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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24980689">pen pal</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxybrunost505/pseuds/galaxybrunost505'>galaxybrunost505</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>RuPaul's Drag Race RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - High School, Angst and Drama, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Goth Kitty BenDeLaCreme, High School, I.Q. Kitty Trixie Mattel, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, Lesbian AU, Lots of drama, Slow Burn, Underage Sex, and google the letters they wrote to each other, and so smut was created, boom - Freeform, but it's also fun i swear, but not necessarily inspired by it, dumb lesbians, if you don't know who vita and virginia are do yourself a favor, it's sad, modern day vita and virginia, more conflict, more drama, on the first day god said: let there be smut, somewhat similiar to love simon, the wlw energy here.... ah yes i like that, they're beautiful and extremely gay, when you think something is finally resolved</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:47:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>134,467</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24980689</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxybrunost505/pseuds/galaxybrunost505</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Trixie and Katya are psychologically damaged teenagers who have trouble opening up to people. To solve that problem, their school counselors decide that they need a friend who understands them.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Trixie Mattel/Katya Zamolodchikova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>669</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>240</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey guyssss<br/>I missed posting here and I guess now it's a good time for a comeback! Hope you enjoy it! &lt;3 You can find me on <a href="https://highonbrunost.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/sleepymattel">Twitter</a>!<br/>Before I forget, sound <a href="https://twitter.com/fuckzamo">Rachel</a> for doing nothing!</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Date:  August 20th, 2015. Thursday, 01:37 p.m. <br/>From: iqkitty@gmail.com<br/>To: brightredscare@gmail.com<br/>Subject: pen pal project</p><p>Hey. <br/>I don’t really know what to say here, no one told me what to do. Did they tell you what to do? Are we supposed to guess? Whatever. I’d tell you what I’m here for, but I think you’ve figured that one out already.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Date: August 17th, 2015. Monday, 02:17 p.m. </p><p>From: <a href="mailto:jinkxmonsoon25@gmail.com"> jinkxmonsoon25@gmail.com </a> </p><p>To: <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com"> iqkitty@gmail.com </a></p><p>Subject: The pen-pal project</p><p> </p><p>Dear Beatrice,</p><p>What a misfortune it is that I must leave our dear Leegreat Haven High at this moment. The beginning of a new school year can surely be frightening. You were doing so well in the summer - I’m glad you decided to keep in touch with me during the break, I can tell it meant a lot to you because it meant a lot to me too. Yet, it is what it is and now we must move on. </p><p>I know you have only just started your journey with professional help, and since I’m not linked to the school anymore, there isn’t much that I can do for you from now on, dear, which breaks my heart in a million pieces. I don’t think it’s fair to leave you right now after all the progress we’ve been making for the past couple of years, and especially these past few months. It brings me so much pride to see how far you’ve come! Since I’m officially not LH High’s counselor anymore I can finally say you are my favorite, but please don’t mention that to anyone. </p><p>Anyway, I have recently been in touch with Mrs. Chad Michaels, who, besides being one of my dearest friends, also happens to be the counselor of the Sacred Heart of Jesus school. She mentioned the existence of a case similar to yours over at their school, of a girl who’s gone through something rather traumatic during the summer and now has developed anxiety symptoms similar to yours. That, of course, gave us an idea - I may be a swamp witch, but I’m a smart swamp witch, right? </p><p>Mrs. Michaels and I believe that it is as important for you as it is for the other girl to keep in contact with someone going through something similar, as it will make the path clearer and easier for both of you. Think of it as your own mini support group. I know you well enough to guess that you’ve hated this idea now that I’ve said this, but that you’re also curious enough to try. </p><p>I expect you to be aware that this type of interaction does not replace therapy or medications at all, but I do believe it will be of great help to you during your time at school. I don’t want you to feel like you are on your own, even if you have Bendela and your mother, I know that you still refrain yourself from reaching out to them. Even though Mrs. Michaels is there for her, the other girl seems not to be so willing to open up to her either, so I’d say you two maybe need each other a little right now, even if you think you don’t. </p><p>Since I know you don’t enjoy having your space invaded, only your email address has been informed to your pen pal. No phone numbers and no names. You can remain anonymous at first if you wish to do so. It is completely up to you.</p><p>I’d appreciate it if you could reach out to her first. Her email address is <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com"> brightredscare@gmail.com </a>. You can tell her anything you’d like to say to me and, perhaps, even more. I also know how fond you are of Nurse Asia, but right now you could use another friend, don’t you think?</p><p>Please don’t hate me. And please, at least give it a shot. I’d love it if you could write me a report by the end of the term to let me know how things went between you two. Both Mrs. Michaels and I have put our faith in this project and we wholeheartedly believe it will work out fine. </p><p>Let me tell you that I have a great feeling about this. I think you’re going to have a great year ahead of you, dear. And if you don’t, I’m always one email away. And so is your pen pal. </p><p>Love, </p><p>Counselor Monsoon. </p><p>***</p><p>Date:  August 20th, 2015. Thursday, 01:37 p.m. </p><p>From: <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com"> iqkitty@gmail.com </a></p><p>To: <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com"> brightredscare@gmail.com </a></p><p>Subject: pen pal project</p><p> </p><p>Hey. </p><p>I don’t really know what to say here, no one told me what to do. Did they tell you what to do? Are we supposed to guess? Whatever. I’d tell you what I’m here for, but I think you’ve figured that one out already. </p><p>I don’t want to tell you my name yet. Or ever. But I can tell you that I’m a girl and I’m sixteen and I go to Leegreat Haven High. I can also tell you I would rather stick a fork in my eye than do this, but I’m doing it anyway because I feel a subconscious need to make Mrs. Monsoon, my counselor, proud of my progress, even if she’s bailed on me. Also, I kinda want to be a good person? I think both of us could use that right now. </p><p>Can I ask you not to tell me your name either? I think you’ll understand why I’d want us to keep our personal info to ourselves, but if you don’t I’ll explain by telling you that the idea of being acknowledged frightens me. A real person who knows about my real problems in my real life? I’ll pass, thank you very much. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nothing personal, how could it be if I don’t even know you, right? (now you see my point, eh?) It took me a while to open up to Mrs. Monsoon because knowing that I’d have to look at her face again after telling her about literally everything that’s wrong with me was terrifying. That still stands, so I’d rather believe I’m talking to a void instead of a person. Please don’t take offense? </p><p>Anyway, we’ve been put in contact for a reason and that is because we’re both a little fucked up, as far as I’ve been informed. Those weren’t the words used, but I hope you don’t mind. This is all that I know about you, that you’re my partner in fucked-up-ness. We should start a club! Like, I haven’t been told any specifics, so if you’d like to talk about it, you’re very welcome to do so, but I understand if you don’t. </p><p>I don’t know if you’re ever gonna answer this, or if you’re even real, which I admit would be relieving because you have no idea how hard my hands are shaking as I type this. Maybe this is just a well thought out prank, and if that’s the case, good job Mrs. Monsoon, now please quit playing. On the other hand, a small and stupid part of me wants you to exist because that’s exactly what’ll give me the false sense that everything is okay and that’s all I need for the moment, something to hang on to. I don’t care if it’s fake, it’s something. Fucking something.  I’ve been craving something for a while now, I’m just not sure what it is yet. </p><p>Maybe I just need someone to exist with me right now. </p><p>***</p><p>Date: August 22nd, 2015. Saturday, 03:15 p.m</p><p>From: <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com"> brightredscare@gmail.com </a></p><p>To: <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com"> iqkitty@gmail.com </a></p><p>Subject: RE: pen pal project</p><p> </p><p>Hi there</p><p>Guess we’re gonna need a name for that club. </p><p>Thanks for reaching out first, if it were up to me, you’d still be waiting. As you said, nothing personal, but talking to people hasn’t been my favorite thing at the moment, especially when I have no clue what to say. If you knew me, you’d know how out of place that seems. </p><p>I’m okay with no names, so if you ever need to call me anything, you can call me Jodie, like Jodie Foster. She’s my favorite actress. Have you ever seen Contact? Dead dad on a beach? It’s a masterpiece, you should give it a shot sometime. What should I call you, if I ever need a name? </p><p>I’m also a girl and I’m also sixteen, but unlike you, I go to catholic school, which was already the reason behind 60% of my psychological issues. I’m sorry your counselor bailed. Is anyone replacing her soon? I don’t have anything against my counselor, Mrs. Michaels, but she won’t lay off of me, so I’d appreciate it if someone replaced <em> her. </em> Mrs. Michaels, if you’re reading this fuck off. </p><p>So, I’m not gonna lie now and tell you I hate this idea 100% because I’m kinda glad I have someone who understands what it’s like to, you know, be a huge fucking mess. I have my friends and all, but it’s not the same. They don’t get what it’s like to be like this. They were there through everything, but I guess I ended up pushing them away a bit. Also, if you don’t mind, I don’t really feel like, you know, going through all that one more time, so if I could just… not talk about it, I won’t. I don’t actually care whether you mind it or not, though, I just thought it’d be a nice thing to say. You’re free to tell me what kind of shit you’ve been through if you want. </p><p>Thanks for giving this a shot. I know how hard it must be for you, considering how hard it is for me. But you were right before: I could really use a good person right now. For that, I guess you can count on me to exist with you.</p><p>Jodie. </p><p>***</p><p>Date: August 23rd, 2015. Sunday, 09:46 a.m.</p><p>From: <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com"> iqkitty@gmail.com </a></p><p>To: <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com"> brightredscare@gmail.com </a></p><p>Subject: I’m not sure</p><p> </p><p>Dear Jodie,</p><p>I like your pen name. I’ve never heard of Contact before, but who knows, I might check it out later. Dad dead on a beach? Or dead dad on a beach? Both sound great. Thanks for understanding me not wanting to say my name, but for now you can call me Dolly, as in Dolly Parton. She’s my favorite singer ever. It’s that old story, a girl grows up poor in a small town but then good things happen to her. I’m waiting for my good things to happen to me. I guess I’ll wait until I’m as old as Dolly herself. </p><p>It’s complicated to talk about the things I’ve been through because nothing ever really happened to me to make me the anxious trash bag that I am today, it’s just the way I am. I can’t tell what’s worse: having a reason or not having one. It sucks either way. What I do know is that I’ve been feeling much better lately thanks to Mrs. Monsoon and the new meds I’ve started taking, and this summer hasn’t been exactly terrible since I finally managed to get a job, and now I don’t need to worry so much about money anymore. My mom works too much but things can still get tough sometimes, so I’m happy that I’m finally well enough to help her make ends meet, even if all I manage is to pay for my treatment. </p><p>I get what you mean when you say ~this~ is not the same as talking to your friends. It’s difficult for me to open up to people because I’m scared of the consequences that might have, so not having you as a concrete part of my real-life already makes it that much easier. It’s also fun to imagine I’m trading emails with Jodie Foster. And, no, my friends aren’t bad people, they’re actually pretty great and understanding, but it can be too much for me sometimes. My school friend, let’s call her D, always has to help me clean up my mess at school on the bad days. Well, she and the nurse. I don’t think she minds that I’m not super open with her because that’s just the way our friendship flows. She’s also a goth or an emo… She’s one of those people who wear a lot of black, which makes her the tough one in our duo, so I don’t usually bother her with my non-toughness. S, my work friend, is kind of the opposite. She’s one of those high energy people, you know? She loves to hear about my life even if I’m not interesting at all, which is what I tell her every day, but she doesn’t believe it. What kind of teenage life cliche will I have to stumble upon so she’ll finally be satisfied with what I tell her?</p><p>Not that I tell her much, again, there isn’t much to tell and what there is… It’s just too intense of an exchange for me to have. I know that both S and D have their own lives and love to tell me about it (and I love to hear them), but the more they tell me about their lives the more I feel like something’s wrong with me. Do you ever get a pungent feeling of unbelonging when you’re around other people? I don’t know if this is my anxiety or if it’s me, but it’s the truest feeling I know. </p><p>Like, sometimes my anxiety makes it difficult for me to understand what I feel, even if it’s a real feeling or not, but not when this happens. My unbelonging is always crystal clear in front of me, and it’s everywhere all of the time. I see it from the moment I first look at myself in the mirror to when I create those unattainable scenarios in my head before I fall asleep. It’s the way I look and the way I dress and the way I think and, well, some other things too. </p><p>That was a bit much, wasn’t it? Sorry. It’s just… I never said that before. To anyone. Because they wouldn’t get it and also because I’m too afraid to do so. Ugh. Some days I wonder how such a small town can make me feel so lost. I would never give Leegreat Haven this power if I knew how not to. It’s like it’s telling me to get out but doesn’t hear me yelling that I want to get out anyway. And now that was too much again. </p><p>I hope you find my lack of emotional balance charming enough to keep talking to me. That was cheesy. Sorry. Will you (Jodie) Foster this kind of behavior? Yeah, that made it worse. What I mean is that I think I am starting to get used to the idea of you, and sharing my stuff with you, and I don’t want that to be gone now and what I really hope is that you feel the same about me.</p><p>I actually look forward to hearing back from you. </p><p>Dolly. </p><p>***</p><p>Date: August 23rd, 2015. Sunday, 11:00 p.m.</p><p>From: <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com"> brightredscare@gmail.com </a></p><p>To: <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com"> iqkitty@gmail.com </a></p><p>Subject: RE: I’m not sure</p><p> </p><p>Dear Dolly</p><p>I read your email and then I freaked out because I felt like I had written it myself. </p><p>I feel the exact same way about my friends, but from what you’re saying, I think I can play into it a little bit better, as in I try to sound as exciting as they do. Or at least I did, but I haven’t been doing that lately. I have barely even talked to them ever since my ~thing~ happened and I’m not sure if they understand why I’m being so weird, but I’m not in the headspace to feed into that now.  My friends are G and M and they are both lovely girls, who love partying and boys and all that jazz, and I’m just not right there with them. I mean, I go to the parties and I kiss the boys, but I don’t know how much of it I’d do if I didn’t have to do it with them. </p><p>G is more of a romantic, innocent type, you see. She’s a sucker for those Jane Austen novels and to this day nobody understands why the hell she’s friends with me and M. She’s the sensible one out of us three and she’s the one who’s always sober enough to carry us out of the parties. M is a bit more like me, she oozes out chaotic energy. She and I are not only the life of the parties, but we’re the troublemakers at school. We find a way to get in trouble all the fucking time and it’s impossible not to laugh your ass off when you’re with her. Last year we had a debate about reproductive rights and religion and some people were upset we defended abortion and free period products, so the next day all of their lockers were full of (allegedly) bloody pads and tampons, and girl, that detention was worth every single hour. Just so you know, it wasn’t real blood, but it should have been. </p><p>I hate catholic school. The funniest thing about it is that other than being bigoted pieces of shit, everyone is as far away as possible from the “catholic values” our school preaches. Oh, and I’m right there with them. I’m not a fan of the bigotry or the whole hooking up with my classmates part of it, I’m more of an illicit substance kind of girl. Alcohol, though named boring by some, is my favorite. I can’t smoke anything inside my house without being caught because of the smell, but I am able to sneak a few bottles up my bedroom and leave them under my bed for whenever I feel like I need to drown some sorrows. The main issue is that this has been nearly every night for the past two months. </p><p>I hate that this is what I have been relying on, so I think you can understand why I don’t hate the idea of talking to you. It’s more dignifying than getting drunk on my own at three a.m. on a Wednesday. I not only feel lost in this town, in the middle of all these people, I also feel lost in my own life right now. I still haven’t processed what happened 100% and that makes me so, so unready to move on with my future. I didn’t have the clearest of views before, but now it’s all blurry. When I think of my future I see nothing but I fucking blur and when I think of my present I see nothing but a fucking blur. So, yeah, I get you. </p><p>At least I guess it’s a good thing we are lost together. </p><p>Jodie. </p><p>***</p><p>Date: August 24th, 2015. Monday,  09:15 a.m.</p><p>From: <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com"> iqkitty@gmail.com </a></p><p>To: <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com"> brightredscare@gmail.com </a></p><p>Subject: RE: RE: I’m not sure </p><p> </p><p>Dear Jodie,</p><p>It might just be the early morning vibes that I’m getting that are making me say this, but maybe this isn’t us being lost. Maybe this is us being found.</p><p>At least I hope it’s us being found.</p><p>Dolly.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Trixie doesn’t have time to come up with a response because, suddenly, the door opens. At first, she thinks it’s a strong wind blowing, but at a second glance, she sees a person. A girl person. A pretty girl person. She blushes. </p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey :) thanks for the kudos and comments on the last chapter! This one is a bit different but I hope you'll enjoy it too &lt;3<br/>Once again, sound <a href="twitter.com/fuckzamo">Rachel</a> for doing nothing and feel free to stalk me on <a href="highonbrunost.tumblr.com">tumblr</a> and <a href="twitter.com/sleepymattel">twitter</a></p><p>TW: this chapter has mentions of suicide and homophobia in it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> August 24th, 2015. Monday, 03:42 p.m. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Trixie had been having a suspiciously long streak of good days.</p><p>Her summer was amazing - she had spent enough time under the sun to tint her skin tanner than usual, she learned how to play a few more songs on her guitar, convinced her friend, Dela, to dye her hair pastel pink, finally got the job that she so desperately needed and last, but most definitely not least, her mental health had been the most stable since the beginning of the year. The meds seemed to be working, considering how well she’d been doing at her popcorn saleswoman position at the local movie theater, having only sweat a lot instead of crying when people came up to talk to her. She smiled often and even managed to say “enjoy your movie” after giving back any change. </p><p>Dela had come by to pick her up after work a couple of times and she never failed to mention how proud she was of Trixie’s newfound store-bought brain chemical balance with a lip twist that could perhaps resemble a smile if she tried hard enough. Trixie had even managed to make a new friend who worked at the movie theater with her, Shangela, the smartest college-dropout she has ever met. And, God, she and her mom were in the best place they had ever been in their relationship, seeing that all that hard-earned money spent on doctors and pills was finally paying off. </p><p>2015’s summer had been the highlight of Trixie’s life so far and it showed her exactly what she had been missing all along.  </p><p>She took the first blow to her face on the second Monday of the school year, or, a week ago, when Mrs. Monsoon called her into her office right after lunch. Jinkx had been the only person in that school, other than Dela and Nurse Asia, who actually gave a shit about Trixie and her anxiety issues and if she ever sought professional help, as difficult as that was, it was all because of that woman. Seeing her go was one of the most difficult things Trixie ever had to experience in her life. Suddenly, all of the confidence and sunshine she’d been beaming all through the summer were gone and she could feel her skin cracking as she let the loneliness settle back in. All the warmth she’d been feeling was suddenly replaced with an icy feeling along her spine.</p><p>The second blow to her face came earlier today, in Ms. Act’s class. It had actually started much earlier in the morning when she realized she had slept through her alarm and was already late for school. She had spent the entire day feeling her heartbeat on her throat and it only calmed down slightly when she walked into her beloved Geography class. She wasn’t paying half as much attention to the subject as she was paying to her teacher, especially today. She had been on the brink of anxiety for too many hours and there was a pretty lady right in front of her, what else was she supposed to do? Trixie feels a little guilty every time she stares too hard because she knows that her teacher thinks she’s focused on her explanation or whatever, but at least the crazy crush she had had on Ms. Act in her freshman year was long gone - but she is still beautiful enough to get all of Trixie’s attention and more. Unfortunately, today Ms. Act thought Trixie was so focused that she actually asked her to give an example of whatever she was talking about and, of course, Trixie didn’t know what to say. </p><p>See, normally that wouldn’t be as big of a problem for anyone else in this class, they would probably just have made up an excuse or asked her to repeat the question, but not Trixie. At first, she stared at Ms. Act without blinking or breathing. Then, when she tried to speak her voice didn’t come out and her lungs felt like they were filled with foam and she felt her hand starting to shake, but when she looked at it, it was still. To Trixie that was the worst of all symptoms. It proved that whatever was happening to her was only inside her head, yet it beat her anyway. This time, she could feel her heartbeat pounding so loudly she wondered if anyone else could hear it.</p><p>“Beatrice? Is everything alright with you?” Ms. Act asked, approaching her desk. Before she could answer, she felt her stomach twist and her esophagus burn. <em> No, no, no, no, no. Not today, not now, </em> she thought <em> . Not again. </em>She tried to speak again but only managed out an unintelligible stutter and though she didn’t turn to see the reactions of her classmates, she already felt the warmth of the pity looks covering her from head to toe.  </p><p>Trixie’s stomach turned into a knot and she shot up from her chair way too fast for her legs to follow, since they were cooking like noodles. She should have seen this coming from moment one. This is exactly why she hates the good days: because they leave her unprepared for the bad ones and she always forgets just how fucking bad they are. She stumbled out of the classroom knowing she was being followed by every pair of eyes present and barely made it to the bathroom in time. </p><p>Dela found her sitting on the floor of a smelly stall and took her to Nurse Asia. Her belongings were already there, but she wasn’t surprised since it would probably be the five hundredth time they ended up there after being rescued by her friend. “How you doin’ now, sugar?” the nurse asked her while checking her blood pressure, even if they both knew it was the same old same old that had led her into that office. </p><p>Trixie wanted to start crying right then and there. She wanted to scream out how much she hated being herself and existing in this body that would never allow her a normal life, she wanted to yell about all the good days she had had and how it all seemed like a lie now and she wanted to tell the nurse how much she wished she never had to see her again. Instead, she swallowed the knot in her throat and said: “I’m better, but my breath is still shaky.” Nurse Asia looked at her like she had heard her thoughts and she had to swallow her tears.  </p><p>She was kind of glad to be sent home early, but every step she took towards her house felt like a defeat. She doesn’t usually get sent home after an anxiety attack, she only hangs out in the nurse's office until she calms down and all of her senses are working again and heads straight back to class, so being dismissed by Nurse Asia could only mean bad news. Maybe she wasn’t the only one surprised by her little fit. Ugh.</p><p>As soon as she shuts and locks the door to her house, she leans against it and drops her backpack on the floor with a heavy sigh and startles herself with the noise it makes even though she knew it was coming. She grunts at the irony and kicks the pink bag out of her way, heading to the bathroom. </p><p>She can still feel the hitch in her throat as she opens the faucet and watches the water fill the tub for a moment before turning to the mirror, taking off her glasses and putting her hair up with an old scrunchie that was probably her mom’s in the 80s. The mirror is now slightly fogged due to the warmth of the room and she wipes her way into a clearer view of herself, taking in every detail of her face. Some strands of her hair still crawl all the way down to her shoulders and she remembers how vividly colored they were a few weeks ago, but now they’re as faded as she feels she is. Her brown eyes are puffy and reddened, ready to cry a million tears, and her cheeks were so pale earlier, but now they’re pinker from the walk back home. </p><p>“What the fuck is wrong with you?” She doesn’t blink, waiting for her reflection to answer. “Why can’t you just be fucking normal?”</p><p>By the time her mom gets home, Trixie is still in her bedroom, with only a towel wrapped loosely around herself, and she must have played a hundred different songs about feeling lonely and desperate. The call of “Trixie, I’m home!” that she has learned to love makes her eyes go wide as she turns to check the clock. It’s a quarter to six. She needs to be at work in fifteen minutes and she is neither dressed nor has made dinner for her mom. Shit. </p><p>“I’m coming!” Trixie yells as she puts her guitar down on her bed and starts rummaging through her underwear drawer like a wild animal in a trash can. She slips on her uniform’s red polo just in time for her mom to open the door.</p><p>“Why haven’t you made dinner, honey?” Her mother, Nina, asks at the door. “Wait, are you only getting dressed now?” </p><p>Trixie is in front of her mirror, trying to fix her curls into something less matted. “I lost track of time, I’m sorry, I know that I was home early and all, but I just felt so off I needed some time to process but of course it took me an entire afternoon and I didn’t even...” her voice spills out so fast her mom can barely comprehend it. </p><p>“Whoa, whoa, whoa”, Nina comes in and reaches for Trixie. “Did you get home early today? What happened?” Trixie looks at her through the mirror, then turns around. She saved these tears all day, but the look in her mother’s eyes takes away all of the strength she had been using to keep them down. “Oh, honey. Did it happen again?”</p><p>Before Trixie can even nod, she breaks down into her mom’s embrace. </p><p>***</p><p>After slamming the door so loudly she woke up the neighbor’s dog and taking three deep breaths, Katya screams. She stands at her porch, still being able to hear her parents’ argument even though she’s outside and tells herself she needs to get out now because she can’t take another night of this. </p><p>Her house has never been the easiest place in the world to live in, but ever since her sister, Brooke, had been gone, Katya hasn’t had the strength to cope anymore. Up until this very moment, she had done nothing but lie in her bedroom, cry and get drunk by herself on school nights. She’d been going to school because school was better than home but every time her friends invited her to do anything she couldn’t say yes without feeling a spark of guilt in her stomach, so she just stood there, marinating in all of the unprocessed thoughts and feelings her family has been dealing with for the past two and a half months. </p><p>Some days, Katya feels angry. Her tears roll down warm and furious as she downs another shot of whatever she managed to sneak upstairs this time. She refuses to look at pictures and she tries not to think of her, but the only thing in her mind is how selfish Brooke had been to leave her all alone with their parents in this nightmare of a house. She calls her sister an egotistical bitch, and thinks about walking into her bedroom and tearing it apart - she deserves it for abandoning Katya, leaving her all alone here. Other days, she feels guilty. She calls her sister’s name while going through photos of her, trying to think of a reason, because she should have seen it, she should have known. It destroys her to realize how shitty of a sister she must be not to have seen this coming, to be so taken aback by surprise, to not understand, to wonder. Katya beats herself up over-analyzing the now painful memories they had shared, the secrets they had told each other - did she not pay enough attention? Was it hiding somewhere in her words in a corner she hasn’t checked yet?</p><p>Most days, though, she doesn’t feel a single thing. At school, she was known for her pranks and the fiery energy that would get her in trouble at any time, but now she feels invisible and cold. People don’t even talk to her that much anymore, because maybe ignoring the problem will make it go away. Then she gets home, lies in bed, and doesn’t realize she’s crying until all the tears have wet her pillow. The only noise she hears, in the back of her head, is a voice saying that soon Brooke will knock on her door to ask to borrow a dress or to talk about how excited she is for the next game she’ll be cheerleading or just to hang out in silence watching whatever her new favorite TV show is since it changes every month when she finds a new one.</p><p>Katya sighs. Since it changed every month when she found a new one. </p><p>The worst part of suicide, Katya thinks, is that no one knows what to tell you when you’re the one left behind. She and her family haven’t done anything other than a funeral, and picking an outfit was the most difficult fucking thing they ever had to do. She now thinks about what they’re gonna do with her phone, with her bedroom and her clothes, but she hasn’t touched anything yet. She knows that doing that will maybe allow her deeper into the world of her sister’s mind, it will maybe help her understand why she did it, and maybe that’s exactly why she’s so afraid to do so.</p><p>Katya hears something shatter and covers her ears, shaking her head. She would scream again, but she doesn’t want her neighbors to think there’s a murder going on. So she walks. She walks right out of her house and down the street, in complete silence save for how loud her thoughts are.</p><p>It’s intense for her to leave the house like this for the first time in so long. Some parts of her brain made her feel like she was chained to her bed forever and she believed it. The weirdest part is that even though her life now has changed forever, the world is still the same. She watches the trees and the birds and the sun. They don’t know what happened to her, they have no business knowing so they keep growing, chirping, and shining. In her head, the sun hadn’t shone in two months, so seeing it out here comes as a pleasant surprise.</p><p>Brooke often reminded her of the sun. Katya chuckles at the thought. Her sister might have been a literal ray of sunshine in her lifetime, for all she knows. The fact that she was beautiful and popular had always been the least attractive about her, it never came close to her kindness or intelligence or how she could enter a room full of strangers and make them friends in the blink of an eye. Brooke had this glow to herself that made it impossible to be in a bad mood around her. They say nobody is perfect but Katya knew that was not true. Brooke was perfect. She was everything.</p><p>Katya nearly stumbles on a misplaced rock and curses at it, kicking it out of her sight. She shoves her hands in the pockets of her jeans, fiddling with the loose coins inside of them. She watches two young girls in the front yard of a house and the sting she feels on her heart makes her breath hitch. One of the girls had fallen and was now being comforted by the other, who patiently blows on her scraped knee and pats her back. Katya swallows her tears and speeds up her pace. </p><p>She will miss being protected. Her parents were also tough enough to deal with, but now she’s on her own at school too, with no one to stand up for her. See, kids can be cruel, but catholic school kids were a different kind of evil. Katya never really understood what is it about her that made her such an easy prey, but the list seemed endless to everyone else. It was probably the way she wore her hair or how loud her laugh was, maybe the fact that her breasts had never grown when they were supposed to or her weird fixation with Slavic countries and how all of those reasons combined led everyone into believing she was a dyke. It used to be worse when she was younger, but people find different ways to be mean when they want to. </p><p>She wishes she could say she didn’t need Brooke to defend her anymore like she did when they were kids, but that isn't true. She was the only layer of security she still had and now she has nothing. She knows Brooke hadn’t been so worried about what people would do to her anymore, and maybe Katya is just paranoid, but she sees the way people look at her. They were only waiting for a moment of weakness, of vulnerability, and they do have that now. Yeah, paranoid is maybe a good word, but not good enough to have stopped her panic attack on her first day back to school.</p><p>Katya brings her indexes to her eyes, trying to stop the tears from ruining her black liner, taking deep breaths, then she stops walking. An old man goes past her and nods his head. She does her best to smile back, but she’s sure it just looked like she was constipated. She moans. She could use some protection right now, she could use a hug or a word of encouragement or whatever.</p><p>She could use Brooke right now.</p><p>She sighs, groans, and stomps her feet. Katya knows where she needs to go to get that.</p><p>***</p><p>As much as Trixie has grown fond of Shangela, she wishes her friend would shut the fuck up for a minute or two. </p><p>Mondays aren’t the busiest days at The Screen Queen movie theater, which means they both stay by themselves in the lounge doing nothing but enjoying each other’s company from six-thirty to ten o’clock. The Screen Queen isn’t the best physical place to work at, considering the air always smells of dust and mold and everything they have inside of the theater is at least 30 years old. Plus, Trixie can’t quite figure how they haven’t gone out of business yet since the only days when people actually come in are the weekends, but she won’t say anything as long as she’s getting paid. Sometimes she and Shangela take advantage of the emptiness and sneak into the only screening room they have to watch whatever is playing and Bob, the projection guy, joins them depending on his mood. He isn’t very sociable and mostly stays in the projection room by himself and neither one of the girls has what it takes to knock on his door. Usually, when they’re not watching free movies, they hang out in the lounge eating free popcorn straight off of the machine and using their time to complete other tasks, and, for Trixie, that means homework. </p><p>She hasn’t been paying attention to her friend’s endless ramble, instead choosing to focus on the equations Mrs. Luzon gave her class as homework. She tunes back to Shangela, just to check if she’s missing anything important, only to hear about how her college friends are now drug addicts and whores and how she wishes she could be that too, but with them. “It sounds awful, but I miss the partying the most,” she tells Trixie and then laughs. “There was this one time…”</p><p>She has been listening to Shangie talk about the best times of her life since they started working together, and she is terrified of ending up like her. See, Shangela had managed to do what most teenagers in Leegreat Haven can only dream of, which is to get the fuck out. Unfortunately, the worst happened when she dropped out of college and ended up stuck here one more time, living with her parents and working with a nerdy teenager and a lonely projection guy. Trixie thinks about how people say it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved and applies that to Shangie’s situation. Is it really better to have seen the world outside of their tiny town and be ripped away from it than to never know what you’d miss? She watches her on the ticket booth, curling her hair on her finger as she goes on about all the friends she had and all the places she went to and her heart breaks a little. Trixie doesn’t think she would have been able to get herself together after losing her freedom like that. An entire life wasted away… Maybe ignorance gets to be bliss, after all.</p><p>Trixie lets out a shy smile as the punchline of Shangie’s story spills out of her lips with a laugh, but she doesn’t laugh along. Her little show at school took all of her energy away today and she feels like a wet sock. Shangela, of course, notices immediately.</p><p>“Girl, this shit is hilarious, what is up with you?” She asks, crossing her arms. </p><p>Trixie shrugs and sighs. “Bad day.”</p><p>“I just described to you in detail how I had to help my friend get rid of an actual turd in a plastic bag at a frat party, you need to do better than that.”</p><p>“Well, I had a shit day at school today because I’ve had my first anxiety attack in two months in the middle of class. It was bad enough to get me sent home early.” </p><p>“Oh, Trixie... I’m sorry. I had no idea.” Shangela’s face has changed dramatically. “Are you feeling better now?” </p><p>Trixie nods. “Physically yes, but my head is like…” She stares at her math notes for a moment before looking back up. “I just thought I was getting better, and now I know that I’m… not.” She crosses her arms. “So that sucks.”</p><p>“It does,” Shangie nods. “But you know what they say, recovery isn’t linear. I’m sure this is just a bad moment.”</p><p>Trixie doesn’t have time to come up with a response because, suddenly, the door opens. At first, she thinks it’s a strong wind blowing, but at a second glance, she sees a person. A girl person. A pretty girl person. She blushes. </p><p>The girl seems to be shorter than her by an inch or so, but she is gorgeous. Her bangs are long enough to threaten her sight and the rest of her hair falls in a frizzy blonde mess over her shoulders and down her chest. She’s wearing a stained t-shirt of a band Trixie’s never heard of and her jeans are loose and cuffed at the ankles. The girl looks pale enough for Trixie to guess she spent her whole summer inside. Her body isn’t built the same way as Trixie’s is, and the curves are replaced by toned arms and a hint of a butt. Trixie wishes she could stop staring at her arms. </p><p>“Oh, hey Katya,” Shangela greets her. Katya. Trixie wasn’t expecting that. She surely doesn’t look like a Stacy or a Brittany or an Ellie, but Katya has a nice ring to it. Katya, Katya, Katya. “Haven’t seen you in a while!”</p><p>The girl gives her a classic awkward white person smile of acknowledgment. “Yeah, hey.”</p><p>“Where’s the other chick?” </p><p>Katya shrinks and fixes her bangs out of her eyes. “I don’t really wanna talk about it.” Shangela asks a million questions with her eyes. “I’ll just have a ticket to whatever’s playing tonight.”</p><p>“Sure.” Katya takes a bill and some coins out of her pocket and hands it to Shangie. “Here you are! Enjoy your movie!”</p><p>Katya nods, shoving the ticket into the same pocket where she took the coins from. She thinks the girl will walk straight into the screening room and looks back down at her math notes, pencil still in hand, until she hears a shy “hi”. She looks up to find Katya standing right in front of her and pushes her notebook and pencil away.</p><p>“H-Hi.” she stutters. Katya offers her that same awkward smile and Trixie is just taking a moment to take in what her face looks like from up close. Her eyebrows peak out from under her bangs and they’re arched in a way that makes it look like Katya’s angry all the time. Trixie can’t tell if her eyes are green or blue, but the liner on her bottom lash line is surely smudged. Her nose is one of the strongest features of her face, it would look misplaced on a person with softer features, but her sharp jawline matches it perfectly. Trixie purposely avoids looking at her lips. </p><p>“Hi.”</p><p>“Yeah, you’ve said that already,” Trixie hears herself saying and immediately wishes for a meteor to hit her right on the head. Fortunately, it makes Katya smile and Trixie notices how her shoulders lower in relaxation. At least her inability to be social is making somebody’s day better.</p><p>“You’re new here, right?” She fixes her bangs again. Trixie catches a glimpse of her short nails and eclectic bracelets. One of them is made of teeth. </p><p>“Uh, yeah. I’m Trixie.” She wonders if she should offer her hand for the other girl to shake, but decides against it. “I sell popcorn.” Trixie hates herself. </p><p>“Great, that’s exactly what I’m looking to buy,” Katya nods. Trixie blushes harder. “I’ll have a medium, please. And could you, uh, get some extra butter in it?”</p><p>Trixie nods, turning around and finally releasing the breath she had been holding. She’s glad she got to tell Shangie about her bad day because now she’ll think it’s just her anxiety acting up and hopefully won’t clock her gay panic. </p><p>After Trixie hands her the popcorn and a bottle of water and Katya pays for it, the girl holds still for a second and Trixie’s heart starts acting up again. She can’t just panic every time she sees a pretty girl, even if it's the only thing she's objectively good at. “Anything else?”, she asks, hoping she’ll say no so this interaction can finally end before it ends her.</p><p>“I like your hair,” Katya comments. Trixie doesn’t thank her before she’s gone to the screening room. She grabs a strand of her own hair and watches the faded pink before giving up a small smile. She definitely doesn’t think about Katya while doing her math homework when it’s just Shangie and her in the lounge again. <br/><br/></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>You’re right about the whole “I wouldn’t want to get with anyone from my school” and, well, same, but don’t let that discourage you… You said it yourself you want to get out of here as soon as possible, and when you do that, you’ll meet an entire different world of people out there. Maybe you don’t even need to go far if your eyes are wide open.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey guysss<br/>hope everyone is doing alright this week :) here's chapter 3! i wanna once again thank my lovely beta <a href="https://twitter.com/FUCKZAMO">rachel</a> for being useless and say that you can find me on <a href="https://highonbrunost.tumblr.com">tumblr</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/sleepymattel">twitter</a> &lt;3<br/>hope you enjoy &lt;3333</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Date: August 26th, 2015. Wednesday, 04:17 p.m.</p><p>From: <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com"> brightredscare@gmail.com </a></p><p>To: <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com"> iqkitty@gmail.com </a></p><p>Subject: Do you hate everything? I kinda hate everything</p><p> </p><p>Dear Dolly, </p><p>Are you feeling any better after your anxiety attack on Monday? Those are terrible. I’ve been having quite a few myself, but I’ve only started now. I imagine what it’s like for you since you’ve had to deal with them for way longer. They aren’t fun either way. </p><p>School sucked today. It sucks every day, but today was specifically terrible. There are these boys, you see, and that’s where my problem starts. They are:</p><ol>
<li>Extremely popular</li>
<li>Seniors</li>
<li>Apparently too hot to be true, but I swear I don’t see it</li>
<li>A bunch of assholes</li>
</ol><p>If you’re under the impression that I’m not super fond of them, you’re right. In fact, I feel like I’m the only one in my entire school who doesn’t fall for their bullshit. They used to love picking on me when I was younger, and by that I mean they made half of my school life a living hell. If it weren’t for my sister, it would still be, but… Well. Nevermind that. What matters is that I know what they’re all about and it’s never good. </p><p>We mostly ignore each other’s existence nowadays, save for a few unfortunate moments. I hadn’t talked to any of them since last year, which to me is great, but today they came up to me and my friends and invited us to a party on Friday. I know it doesn’t seem like a problem, and considering what is going on with me, one would even say they are probably trying to be nice, but I’m smarter than that. Or just paranoid. Anyway, my friends really want to go, which is at least expected. Senior boys and free alcohol, who wouldn’t want to go, right? </p><p>Well, I don’t want to go. For once, I don’t trust them, not a bit. I think they’re up to something. When I said that to my friends they didn’t take it lightly. See, I’ve left my house for something other than school for the first time in two months this week. I don’t know how ready I am to start living my social life again. I wish they had been more sensible about that, but I guess time goes by differently when you’re out of the bubble. They really insisted that I go and the more I denied the more they insisted. I didn’t feel like “I don’t want to go because I think they’re plotting something” was good enough of an excuse, so I let them make their own assumptions and now they think I’m playing hard to get because I’ve kissed one of those boys before and now I want to hook up with him again.</p><p>First of all that is disgusting. The context behind what happened is not cute and it’s not like boys ever mean anything to me at all, they should be well aware of this by now, but guess not. Ugh. I’m pissed. I wish I could simply vanish and not have to deal with this anymore because I seriously do not have the energy for this kind of drama. You wanna know what the worst part is? My friend G had the nerve to go after this one boy and tell him that I want to hook up with him which is untrue and not right. I don’t even know what to fucking tell them now. </p><p>Okay. I’m worked up. I guess I’ll go for a run after this and let it out, but now it’s all here and I am furious. On a more positive note, I’m really glad you exist. Like, right now, there is no one else in the world that I could’ve told that to so thanks. I know this isn’t exactly your purpose here, but I just need somebody today. And I guess you’re that somebody. Thanks again.</p><p>Jodie.</p><p>***</p><p>Date: August 26th, 2015. Wednesday, 05:00 p.m.</p><p>From: <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com"> iqkitty@gmail.com </a></p><p>To: <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com"> brightredscare@gmail.com </a></p><p>Subject: RE: Do you hate everything? I kinda hate everything</p><p> </p><p>Dear Jodie, </p><p>I get it. Sometimes my friends are a bit out of it too, but honestly? I would guess they’d never do anything to hurt you and, in fact, I know they’re being annoying but this might be their way of trying to support you. They’re doing the best they can to see you happy and feeling like yourself again. </p><p>I know that by now you have two ways to go about this and that is to either follow your gut and stay home or give it a shot and get yourself out there in the world. I’m a little biased by the fact that I’m pretty sure that if you don’t go get drunk in someone else’s house with your friends you’re gonna get drunk by yourself in your bedroom and that is, at least, sad. I’m not shaming you for that, but… You know. Maybe that’s not super healthy? I know getting drunk in another place and with people is technically not that healthy either, but at least you get to leave your house and see new faces. If I were you I’d go, check how I felt and if I didn’t like it I’d go back home, then you’ll have both tried to get out of your comfort zone and found a good reason not to go out again if it sucks too bad. </p><p>My friend D often invites me to parties and I never go. I’ve never been to one, ever. That doesn’t mean I haven’t been drunk before, ‘cause I have, but only at her house on our sleepovers after watching those terrible horror movies she likes. Even though D knows a lot of people and goes to all these parties and kisses all those boys, she still chooses to be my friend and never pressures me into anything, which is good, but I can’t help feeling that she gets frustrated over that sometimes. It might be my anxiety talking. Imagine being friends with someone and not being able to go out together or never getting to gossip about crushes or whatever. I’m pathetic. Every Monday, when we arrive at school and she tells me about how the party she was at on Saturday went, I feel my heart breaking a little bit because she shouldn’t have to tell me, I should have been there to see it. I would really like to actually go to one of these parties at some point, but I never feel like it’s the right time? D is sociable enough that she’ll make friends anywhere, but what if she goes off with a boy and leaves me alone? I’d die. I mean, I wouldn’t, I’d probably do what I told you and go home, but it’s still kinda sad. It’s not as sad as drinking alone in your bedroom, though, so don’t try me. </p><p>I do think that your friends trying to set you up with that guy based on the fact that you’ve kissed once is questionable, especially because you said the context behind it wasn’t too much fun, so I can only imagine what repeating that experience would be like. I never actually kissed anyone before, so there isn’t much for me to say about this other than tell your friends to fuck off about this dude. It’s probably just my brain being weird but I hate the idea of setting two people up like that, ew, no. Imagine kissing someone and thinking you owe them something when there’s no feeling involved? No, thank you. I say go to the party and avoid this guy, then tell your friends that when you<em> want </em>to kiss someone you’ll tell them because if they keep guessing you might as well kiss a dumpster. </p><p>I want you to, you know, take care of yourself. And fuck those guys. Not literally, unless you’re up for that, but you know what I mean.</p><p>Dolly.</p><p>***</p><p>Date: August 27th, 2015. Thursday, 07:10 a.m.</p><p>From: <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com"> brightredscare@gmail.com </a></p><p>To: <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com"> iqkitty@gmail.com </a></p><p>Subject: I’ve already kissed a dumpster, so it doesn’t get much worse than that</p><p> </p><p>Dear Dolly</p><p>You do have a point, I. Q. Kitty. A good point. </p><p>I say we make a deal. I’ll give it a shot and go to this party if you promise me you’ll go to the next party D invites you to go to.</p><p>You’re right about my friends, I think I needed a reason to be angry with someone. They’re doing their best in the way they know how to and I shouldn’t be too hard on them. If I were in their shoes, I also wouldn’t know what to do with myself. I don’t even know what to do with myself <em> being </em> myself, so I can’t expect that much from anyone else, really. It’s just, you know, moments like these make me realize how different our heads are. Sometimes I wonder if I’d ever be friends with them if we had met in another place or moment or whatever, like, if I didn’t have to spend eight hours a day with them. It’s convenient to be their friend, we see each other every day, we make each other laugh, we help each other cheat on tests. It works, but it works now, today. Would it work just as well in another setting? Would I be friends with them if I didn’t have to be?</p><p>That’s horrible. Jesus Fucking Christ, I’m a bad person. But am I though? It’s only a thought. I’m not, like, questioning their friendship or anything, I love them very much, but it’s just… I don’t think I’ll ever see them again after high school is over. I’m going to Cornell or Brown or whatever college my dad pressures me into, G is probably going to move to somewhere sunny across the country like LA or San Francisco and M will take a year (or two, or three) off and travel around Latin America. We won’t have anything in common anymore. We’ll be three adults who went to the same high school and that’s it. I worry about that sometimes. Not many people other than them and my sister and now you have been kind to me and the world is terrifying, so I don’t know what it’s going to feel like to be out there on my own. I guess no matter how or when or where I’ll always be lonely, no matter who’s around me. </p><p>Also, completely unrelated, but let me say: thank you for thinking that two people having kissed <em> once </em> is not a good reason for them to kiss again. God, that annoyed me to a point that I can’t even explain. Maybe I’m a bit too immature to think about boys. I mean, they’re fun at parties, I’ve kissed my fair share of Dylans and Kyles or whatever, but I was never sober enough to let any feeling settle in. There has never been a feeling. When you said you can’t talk to D about crushes, I feel the exact same way because while G and M have a new true love every two weeks I’ve never had that. I was never able to look at any boy and think “yeah, I could date him”. Sometimes I think I’m broken, l think I’ll never be able to fall in love and get married or whatever. Not that being a trophy wife is my number one goal for my future, I can’t even picture myself getting married, but I’m sixteen. Will twenty-five year old me think the same and feel the same way? I don’t care that I’ll finish high school without ever having actually had a boyfriend or had sex, I care that I’ll finish college the same way. Is it bad that I can’t picture a man in my life at any moment at all? </p><p>As the iconic contemporary philosopher Britney Jean Spears would say: “I’m not a girl, not yet a woman”. I’m Schrodinger’s girl. Too mature and too immature to date at the same time. Fuck <em> me </em>I guess. </p><p>Jodie.</p><p>***</p><p>Date: August 27th, 2015. Thursday, 01:43 p.m.</p><p>From: <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com"> iqkitty@gmail.com </a></p><p>To: <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com"> brightredscare@gmail.com </a></p><p>Subject: Did you actually kiss a dumpster or…?</p><p> </p><p>Dear Jodie, </p><p>First of all: do not make fun of Britney Spears in my presence ever again. It’s for your own good. </p><p>Second, I’m sorry for the way you feel about your friends. I think it’s good that you’re aware of this because it might save you a heartbreak or two later, but who knows. You could be wrong. I kinda hope you are and that you and your friends still get to have many many years of good memories together. Things don’t just work on their own, we have to make it work, and if you’ve done that so far, what stops you from doing it later in your life?</p><p>I have a feeling that D and I will stay friends for a long, long time. I understand if S just disappears out of my life, but D is different. I can totally picture us at thirty in a rusty apartment in a big city somewhere drinking some fancy cocktails that we probably don’t even like and talking about whatever old people talk about. It will be a bit sucky to watch her go off to college and conquer the world while I stay behind, living my same old life until I save enough money to get my ass out of here, but I think she’d come to visit me whenever she could. I’m happy for her, though. She still doesn’t know exactly what she wants to do, maybe some sort of engineering, but she’s hoping to study at NYU. Neither of us has ever left the state before, so it would be such a huge deal if she actually managed to go there, which I think will happen. D is a punk bitch, but she tends to get what she wants. If they don’t admit her into NYU she’ll personally go there and kick somebody’s ass until they let her in. It just occurred to me that if I weren’t her friend I’d probably be terrified of her. </p><p>Now, Schrodinger’s girl? Shut up. My opinion may be both controversial and unimportant, but I don’t think that not being super into boys is immature - it’s quite the opposite, actually! I think it’s pretty mature of you not to fall for people that easily, even if I’m a little biased for not being the most romantic person ever. I mean, I’ve had my crushes and all, it’s just that it’s never strong enough that I’ll catch feelings… Among other things. I never interact with people other than D and S for long enough that I’ll get to know them, and in my head, it makes sense that I’m mostly neutral when it comes to romance. </p><p>Maybe I’ll end up being the crazy cat lady and the favorite aunt to all of D’s kids, if she ever has any, but for now I’m not worried. You shouldn’t be either. I don’t think I’ll have my great love story in high school, and maybe you won’t either, and that’s okay. When we look around and see all these people our age flirting their hearts out it can surely make us feel like weirdos, but you wanna know what? I don’t want to flirt with any of the people at my school, which is pretty much the only social circle I (don’t even) have, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s the only thing that matters. </p><p>Could you imagine me kissing any of the people I know? You can’t and I can’t either. <em> Good </em>. </p><p>Dolly. </p><p>***</p><p>Date: August 27th, 2015. Thursday, 08:12 p.m.</p><p>From: <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com"> brightredscare@gmail.com </a></p><p>To: <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com"> iqkitty@gmail.com </a></p><p>Subject: Lying about kissing a dumpster is not exactly what makes me one of the cool kids, is it?</p><p> </p><p>Dear Dolly,</p><p>What a shame you don’t get to go college :( Or not. I don’t know, do you wish you could go or are you okay with not doing that? What do you want to do with your life anyway?</p><p>I’ll probably end up in business or law school, which, yes, I know. Ew. Not exactly my choice there, but my parents would never allow me to go to art school, which is what I wish I could actually do. I think I’d like to be a tattoo artist, can you imagine that? I love painting and drawing, but that wouldn’t get my parents pissed off so I guess it’s not worth the stress. Of course, if I could I’d spend all of my days either drawing or just moving my body, doing something with it, even if I’m not exactly fit to be a professional athlete since it’s kinda late for that. Fuck, I could become a pole dancer. Not like a stripper, just a dancer. Or a stripper, fuck it right?</p><p>You’re probably thinking I’m designing my future with the pure intent of driving my parents insane, and you’re not all wrong. I kinda am. I guess by the end of senior year I’ll be over it, and if I’m not… What should my stage name be? Mystic tan? Debora Credit? Krystal Ball? Krista Ball Columbo? There’s this kooky girl at my school called Crystal, do you think she’d mind that out of all the names in the world I chose hers to be my stripper name? Maybe she’d love it. </p><p>I’m joking. Kind of. It kinda dawned on me when I first entered high school and my sister had already decided she wanted to go to med school that I would need to have a serious job too. I took a super deep sigh right now, so you can picture my frustration of never getting to be a stripper or a tattoo artist or a painter or any of those. I guess I should be glad my parents are paying for my education and quit bitching about it, but I love bitching. It’s my favorite thing to do. I can already see myself wearing a fucking blazer and a pencil skirt. I am utterly disgusted by the sight. </p><p>Oh, don’t let me forget. I need to call you out on you B U L L S H I T. </p><p>Dolly, Dolly, Dolly. You’re not a good liar. Tell me one more time how a sixteen-year-old girl who likes fucking country music is *cough cough* not romantic? I bet you even listen to the Taylor Swift oldies, don’t you? Well, I don’t believe you, not for a second. They teach us better than that at catholic school, please. I have a theory that you haven’t found the right person yet, that’s all. You’re right about the whole “I wouldn’t want to get with anyone from my school” and, well, same, but don’t let that discourage you… You said it yourself you want to get out of here as soon as possible, and when you do that, you’ll meet an entire different world of people out there. Maybe you don’t even need to go far if your eyes are wide open. </p><p>I don’t think it’s ever happened to me, but I think when you meet someone you’ll know if there is a feeling there ready to grow. Give it a shot sometime, try to pay attention to that if you ever get the chance. I hope you do. </p><p>And, since we’re on topic… What kind of boys do you like? Like, what’s your type? ‘Cause that can help you. G often says that more often than we think our type’s type is our type. Did that make sense? Let me try again. More often than we think, the type of person we like actually likes the type that we are. Maybe thinking about that will help you filter some people out. </p><p>Also, from now on I’ll be adding love at the end of my emails because I think a certain someone could use it. </p><p>Love, Jodie. </p><p>***</p><p>Date: August 28th, 2015. Friday, 12:55 a.m.</p><p>From: <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com"> iqkitty@gmail.com </a></p><p>To: <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com"> brightredscare@gmail.com </a></p><p>Subject: How does that even happen? And why did you kiss a dumpster???</p><p> </p><p>Dear Jodie,</p><p>Fuck off. First Britney, now Taylor? Excuse your mouth?</p><p>Let me start by saying that you let a lot of the good things in your life pass right by you because your head keeps getting stuck up your ass. Look at it this way: you’re passionate about art and sport but you can’t turn it into a job and that’s a good thing because you’ll still get to do both of those things<em> just because </em> . You won’t turn it into an obligation, you won’t have deadlines and you won’t get sick of it, because it will be the things you do purely out of enjoyment, simply because you want to and you like it. Doesn’t that sound a lot less stressful than ending up holding a grudge against something you used to love so much but that now is just part of your routine? Plus, when you get your serious business or law job, there will be a lot of pressure on your shoulders and a lot of people counting on you. You can use a <em> just because </em> to unwind. </p><p>Well, if I could, I’d like to go to college, but it was never really in my plans. My only goal now is to save up and get out asap. And, since you asked, in my ideal life I would love to be a musician. I love singing, I really do, but there are so, so many reasons why it’s never gonna happen. One, singing and playing guitar is my just because and I wouldn’t want to turn it into an obligation, like I said before. Two, I would never be able to pay my bills if I chose to live off music. Those aren’t bad enough to stop me from getting a few gigs here and there every once in a while, just to enjoy, have a good time. Sounds great, doesn’t it? Well, guess who has paralyzing anxiety and would absolutely never be able to perform on a stage in front of people? Seriously, when my teachers ask me questions in class I vomit. I would never be able to do that. I know that I’m on meds now and my brain is changing, but I feel so pathetic. There is one thing I like to do and it’s the one thing I can't.</p><p>I’ve never sung or played in front of anyone, not even my mom, though she might have heard me through the wall at some point. I don’t think I ever will. Did I already mention how pathetic I am? Because I’m pretty pathetic. I don’t really know what I’ll do once I get out of here, because I don’t know what kind of job would both not trigger my anxiety and pay enough money for me to continue my treatment. </p><p>Thinking about my future is almost painful, if I’m honest. The present ain’t bright and the future isn’t glowing either.</p><p>Yours, Dolly.</p><p>***</p><p>Date: August 28th, 2015. Friday, 10:13 a.m.</p><p>From: <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com"> brightredscare@gmail.com </a></p><p>To: <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com"> iqkitty@gmail.com </a></p><p>Subject: I wish I could say there was alcohol involved, but it was just me, my friends, and a small bet. </p><p> </p><p>Dear Dolly, </p><p>If no one told you how goddamn smart you are today, let me be the first one: you’re really goddamn fucking smart. Thanks for the advice. It definitely makes sense that I can have both a job and a passion and have them be separate things, I’m just an idiot for not having realized it. Actually, that's not why I’m an idiot, it’s because I keep trying to get back at my parents and I’m almost willing to sacrifice my future with the sole purpose of embarrassing them. We love a healthy family relationship!</p><p>Now, you have also made me insufferably curious. I would love to hear you sing, so feel welcome to do so at any time, I mean it. I think that even though this is your junior year, a lot can change until you graduate and even more things can happen until you get out of this hellhole, so I wouldn’t worry too much about finding a job later. You’re charismatic enough to make me keep talking to you at my absolute worst, so I believe you can do anything. Plus, having music as your own<em> just because </em>is not a bad idea, if that’s where you find your comfort. I kinda understand that. I’ve never met anyone else that was artistic like you and I are, so I’m glad we get to share this one brain cell. </p><p>Also…….. Why did you not answer my question about boys? Are you shy? I think it’s funny that you’re open enough to tell me about the most disturbing thoughts that go on inside your head but you won’t talk about what kind of guy you’re into, and this is not ironic, I really think it’s funny. You’re really funny in general, to be fair. Okay. I’ll stop. </p><p>Why don’t you want to talk about boys, though? This time I’m expecting a real answer. </p><p>Love, Jodie. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Something inside of Katya’s brain clicks. Dolly doesn’t want to talk about boys, avoids speaking of romance, and has more than once mentioned secret reasons on why she’d like to leave Leegreat Haven. Of fucking course, she’s so stupid.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello you bunch of sapphics<br/>This chapter is on the longer side, oopsie. And if it weren't for my main bitches <a href="https://twitter.com/fuckzamo">Rachel</a> and <a href="https://zamo-95.tumblr.com">Zamo95</a> this would all be a tragedy, so thank u ladies &lt;3 You can find me on <a href="https://twitter.com/sleepymattel">Twitter</a> and <a href="https://highonbrunost.tumblr.com">Tumblr</a>.</p><p>Thank you so much for reading, hope you enjoy it &lt;3</p><p>TW: mention of light sexual assault</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>August 28th, 2015. Friday, 10:20 a.m. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trixie is in the middle of History class when she feels it coming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her teacher has been going on about the suffragist movement for way too long and when her phone vibrates in her pocket. Her heart races in anticipation of the notification she longs for all day, every day. Even though every single brain cell in her head is yelling at her to just take it and open her email to see what Jodie has to say, she puts off checking it for a minute or two, afraid her teacher will catch her with her phone in hands, but once she looks to the side and realizes that ninety percent of her classmates are scrolling and thumbing and texting, she lets her shoulders loosen a little. Mrs. Dujour probably knows they’re all on their phones and might just not care. Public school life. In any other moment, it would have made her heart twinge with guilt, but not right now, because right now the only thing going through her head is Jodie, Jodie, Jodie. She feels the fabric of the pockets on her skirt, which her mom had made her two years ago and now it struggles to fit her newfound curves, fingers trailing along the hem, too shy to reach in and find her phone, cheeks redder than the peppers that make her spit pure fire after eating Mexican food. When the metal of her phone meets the tips of her fingers she bites back a smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jodie has become her favorite part of the day as quickly as she came into her life. She finally has something, someone to look forward to. It’s been a fun couple of weeks, to say the least. Trixie hasn’t realized yet, but it’s become a habit for her to automatically start narrating anything that she does in her head as if it were some sort of practice for when Jodie hears about it. She had forgotten what having a new friendship felt like, not to disrespect Shangela, but it’s not the same. Shangie reaches half of her brain when they talk, Jodie somehow reaches the deepest, darkest parts of her being. Dela will only ever reach as deep as Trixie allows her to, while Jodie doesn’t ask for permission before diving right into her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With sweaty, shaky hands, Trixie unlocks her phone straight into the new email. Dear Dolly, it says at the top. Dear Dolly. Although seemingly impossible, she blushes harder. She feels endeared enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes cascade down her screen, soaking in every single word, and if she feels she didn’t pay enough attention she goes back and reads it again. Her blush only lasts until about the first sentence of the last paragraph, which is when her face blanches severely enough for it to look like she’s going to be ill. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, no</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, no, no, no. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That’s when she feels it. Trixie’s shoulders stiffen one more time and her heartbeat, which was already furiously fast is now co-starring in Fast and Furious with Vin Diesel. She watches her hands start to shake, really shake and not only internal shake, her throat closes and she gasps for air loudly, making many heads turn in her direction. Dela immediately stands up from her desk right behind hers and kneels beside Trixie without touching her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to have a panic attack?” She asks. Trixie barely manages to nod before Dela plunks her stuff into her pink-ish stained bag and helps her up. “Come, let’s see Nurse Asia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walk straight past the teacher, leaving all of Dela’s stuff behind as she carries her friend out of the classroom, but the door hasn’t even shut when Trixie tries to support herself on a locker and falls to the ground because of her spaghetti legs. “Can’t walk,” she mutters between heavy, difficult breaths. She doesn’t even acknowledge the fact that her classmates are hearing everything, every part of it, but that will surely haunt her mind tonight before she tries to sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dela sits beside her through it, helping her breathe, but Trixie takes little to no notice of her friend’s presence since her vision is fading in and out and all she hears are the echoes in her mind telling her that Jodie will figure it out soon enough, that she’ll hate her, that she’ll out her and nobody is going to love her again because she’s nothing but a useless dyke. The ringing in her ears makes her want to move her arms and cover them, but the sudden sting in her chest doesn’t allow her and worsens her already decrepit breath. “I’m going to die,” she tells Dela. She nods at her own words, tears wetting her face. “I’m going to die.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not dying,” Dela tries to comfort her with the softest voice she can manage, but all Trixie hears is “Jodie will hate you and everybody will hate you.” “Look at me,” Dela turns Trixie's chin to stare at her, her black pigtails dangling by the sides of her face. “You are not dying. Do you remember those breathing exercises?” Trixie shakes her head. “Just go along, okay?.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Managing the air in and out of her nose does, indeed, help Trixie calm down. She breathes in, holds for a few seconds while Dela squeezes her hand and once she lets go Trixie exhales. They do this over ten times before she actually starts to calm down. Her chest stops hurting so bad and her throat feels clearer, but her heart is still going a little too fast by the time she gets up. When they walk to the nurse’s office, Dela carries her bag and they keep breathing in and out in the same rhythm so Trixie doesn’t get lost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie has become way too familiar with the procedure of being examined by the nurse after a panic or anxiety attack, so familiar to the point where now it’s almost comforting. No, she doesn’t watch medical-themed ASMR videos at night before she sleeps, and if she did, she wouldn’t tell you. Nurse Asia always starts by sitting her down on the uncomfortably high stretcher and soft-talking her down from her crisis, doing breathing exercises, and making sure she understands where she is and what is happening. As soon as she is calm enough to respond properly and has stopped crying, the nurse takes her temperature and blood pressure, checks for any bruises since Trixie tends to fall down a lot in these moments and then it’s time to move to the nurse’s desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is the only part that Trixie hates. Having to talk about what triggered her and how she felt is getting to re-live it all over again. She normally cries during this part, but today her eyes are pumice stone dry. Nurse Asia is used to hearing Trixie whine over being called in class, or having the wrong answers in her homework, doing a test or having to make any sort of presentation for her class, and sometimes even being stared at by her classmates can be a trigger. Today is different. Today being inside of a classroom, or inside the school at all, was nothing but a coincidence and bad timing. As she read the last lines of Jodie’s email, she could start feeling the pressure. She could see her classmates watching and seeing right through her, knowing the truth. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They’ll know it and they’ll hate me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jodie will figure it out and she’ll hate me and she’ll never talk to me again. Jodie will hate me. Jodie will hate me. Jodie will hate me for being a fucking dyke</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The words</span>
  <em>
    <span> dyke</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>gay</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate</span>
  </em>
  <span> swam around her brain in circles and she felt like she was being hit by a tsunami, not being able to breathe under them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie knows what she is. She’s known since she was twelve, but knowing to her is only synonymous with being afraid and ashamed. She’s fine with herself. She likes girls, period. She could never imagine a life in which she didn’t, it’s a part of her, as natural as daylight, and it’s pure and wholesome and it makes sense to her. She’s not fine with other people, though. There is a guy at her school who is openly gay. She doesn’t know his name because everybody calls him Faggypants. She doesn’t want to become Dykeyskirt. Trixie lives on the edge every day, wondering what could happen if people figured it out. Her mother would never want to see her again, she’d be kicked out and she would probably not even be able to go live with Dela because Dela wouldn’t want to talk to her either. Her fear is paralyzing, freezing, and it helps the voices in her head yell at her about how lonely and miserable her life will be if she chooses to be gay over the people she loves, but in the end, there is no love for Trixie in Leegreat Haven. The moment she gets out her life will change for the better. She won’t have to tell her mom or Dela or anyone and she’ll live in a city big enough that nobody cares. Maybe in the future, when she has a girlfriend or, dear Lord, a wife, things will change and she’ll speak up about it, but not for now. For now, Trixie can’t risk losing the little that she has. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nurse Asia watches her with eagle eyes. “So no one asked you to read anything out loud?” Trixie shakes her head, tense. Today, her Southern accent isn’t doing much to calm her down like usual. “Or to present anything in front of the class?” She repeats the movement. “Nobody even looked your way today?” This time she shrugs as the nurse sighs in frustration. “So you’re telling me it was out of the blue, no triggers?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This ain’t your pattern girl,” her eyebrows knit in a frown as she scribbles something on Trixie’s file. “Are you sure it was really out of the blue?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie nods. “Is it a big deal?” Her heart starts pounding again. For someone who’s so used to lying about this, she’s sweating a bit too much right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nurse Asia smacks her lips together. “It kinda is, sweetie” she mutters between teeth. “Have you been taking your meds alright?” Trixie nods, but the nurse squints her eyes at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have!” She defends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And have you been going to your doctor’s appointments alright?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes… Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You see, Trixie… I think we’re gonna need to get in touch with your doctor and talk about your medication. You’ve never had a panic attack untriggered like this before, sugar, so something is obviously not right.” Nurse Asia tells her. Trixie blushes furiously as she watches herself roll down a mountain tucked right inside of a snowball that grows as she descends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it’s only happened once, right? It’s not that big of a deal,” she tries, but Nurse Asia purses her lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Once… so far.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, shit, fuck.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Remember last year when you were at your worst and you had two or three panic attacks every week, for the slightest things? Imagine that but with no apparent reason at all.” The nurse puts her pen down and places her hands on the table. “This could be very serious, sweetie. You sure you ain’t got any idea at all of what might have happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ugh. The snowball around her is about to crash into a rock and break all of her bones. They both know she knows what happened, and Trixie’s plan to poker face her way through this is slowly dissipating in thin air. The silence inside of the room is so deafening they both can hear the clock ticking and its engines running. “I, uh…” Trixie tries, then coughs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honey, whatever you tell me is between me and you, okay? Nobody else will know.” She leans closer. “Is anybody picking on you? ” Trixie tries to say yes, she really does. She nods her head and all, but when she tries to speak, no voice comes out. She needs anything but the truth right now. “What did they do, what did they tell you? You know kids these days have this attitude about everything and can’t take other people’s problems seriously, so let me just say that whatever it is you’ve been told...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gay.” </span>
</p><p><span>She only realizes she’s spoken when it’s too late and she has to cover her mouth to avoid any more truth from spilling out. She shuts her eyes and all of the muscles in her body contract. Her heart beats in her ears and she doesn’t want to look up. She never said that out loud before.</span> <span>She has barely ever said it to herself in her head before. Trixie avoids looking back up at the nurse, scared of what she might find imprinted on her face, not ready to deal with her reaction at all. This is not how she pictured any of this, not this day, not her coming out, none of it. She feels a knot tightening her throat and tries to swallow it down, but this is a stubborn one. </span></p><p>
  <span>“Is that why they’re picking on you, Trixie?” Nurse Asia asks after a breath of silence. “If that is the case you need to report this to the principal immediately, it is completely unacceptable that anyone says a word to you about that, how is it even…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nobody knows,” Trixie speaks up and the nurse’s expression softens. She clears her throat and goes back to her soft speaking. “I mean, you know now, but no one else does. Not even my mom or Dela.” Her chest feels a thousand pounds lighter, but her head is still a mess. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She hasn’t processed it yet</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thinks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and when she does she’ll hate me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honey… Is this in any way related to what happened today?” Nurse Asia reaches for her hand and Trixie lets her hold it, feeling the silky, warm skin against hers immediately calming her nerves and allowing her to think more clearly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But why, sugar?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie inhales sharply before being able to speak again, the knot in her throat barely allowing her to open her mouth. “I think a friend of mine is going to figure it out and then she won’t talk to me anymore.” As she talks, her throat loosens little by little, and she only realizes she’s crying when she tastes the salt of the first tear that drips down to her lips. “And I don’t want to lose her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nurse drags a box of tissues closer to her and Trixie lets go of her hand to take one. She’s glad she chose not to wear mascara today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Darling, can I be honest with you? I’ll just say it, even if you don’t wanna hear it.” Trixie smiles behind the tissue she’s holding. “Do you honestly, truly think that </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> is your biggest problem or your biggest flaw? The gay thing? ‘Cause it ain’t. I have seen you, girl, at your absolute worst. It wasn’t cute. Hearing you tell me you thought you were dying? You’re one of a kind sweetie, and we all appreciate you very much, but every time you walk through that door my heart shatters ‘cause I hate to see you like this. You know better than me how horrible it all is, you do. You feel it in your own skin, while all of us around you watch, knowing there ain’t nothing we can do to stop it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span> is a real problem, not you liking chicks. After everything I’ve seen you go through, hearing you tell me that </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> is your biggest worry right now is so relieving that it’s almost funny. Honey, that is fine. I ain’t worried about that, and I’m sure none of your friends or your mom are either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really think so?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do, sugar. And let me tell you that is this friend you’re talking about figures it out or flips out after you say it… That ain’t no good friend for you. A real friend won’t walk out on you because of something like this. I think what you need is to have a real chat with this person and you tell them ‘this is me and that’s what you get and if you don’t like it that ain’t no problem of mine’, yeah?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish I could ever talk to anyone like that,” Trixie scoffs. “I don’t know. I’m not ready to start telling people yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do you, sweetie, but let me just tell you one thing: if you keep waiting until you’re ready you might as well write it on your tombstone. Then you’ll be ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie barely hears the rest of their conversation with the sound of Nurse Asia’s last few words pounding in her mind. She decides against leaving school early because she knows that getting all the notes she needs for the next classes she has during the day will be a bigger headache than pulling herself through it, plus she should probably buy Dela’s lunch today. The rest of the day goes by somewhat smoothly, except for the pitiful looks she finds herself needing to swerve every once in a while. She can picture the headline for next week’s edition of the school’s newspaper: “Extra! Extra! Tracy Martel freaks the fuck out again!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On her walk home, she rehearses all of the ways she could tell Jodie the truth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya regrets not having worn tights tonight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The chill breeze running through Chad’s backyard is cold enough to give her goosebumps up and down her legs. She tries to warm them by rubbing her hands up and down really fast but it’s not so easy to do that with a cup of the world’s wateriest beer in your hand. Around her, there is some suspicious action in a tall bush, a group of white boys, Chad himself included, playing beer pong and a circle of girls on the grass laughing louder than the music. She can’t believe she used to enjoy this not so long ago because right now she can safely say she would much rather be at home, tucked tightly in her bed, having sweet dreams about puppies. For a brief second, she considers getting up and sneaking out, thinking of how her pillows will feel against her head when she gets to lay on them. She snorts. This party sucks so bad it makes her want to go</span>
  <em>
    <span> home</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the moment, she finds herself sitting alone on the steps of the porch at the back of Chad’s gigantic house, happy that she doesn’t have to make small talk with anyone. After all, she did get a couple of odd looks her way when she first came in, followed by whispers of “shouldn’t she be home” and “that’s disrespectful to her sister” and “finally, I thought she’d be depressed forever”. The last one grinds Katya’s gear to an insufferable point, considering she also thought she’d be depressed forever and maybe still does. She thought about what Dolly had told her, about giving it a shot, and told herself she would genuinely try to have fun tonight, even if she knew these kinds of comments would float her way at some point in the night and follow her mercilessly through next week, so she set her mind to it, put on her best fucking outfit and showed up with the biggest, reddest smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ten minutes into the party both Monét and Gigi were snatched by their respective football players and Katya found herself alone… again. Had this taken place three months earlier, she’d giggle her way into a group of tipsy girls shouting along to Shots by LMFAO, drunk enough to start shouting with them and if someone asked to kiss her she’d have said “ok”. For whatever stupid reason, she doesn’t find herself missing that at all, but instead trying to understand why she couldn’t simply keep it up, just for today. She watches the girls on the grass. Right now one of them is kneeling in the middle of the circle doing a dramatic reading of the texts her ex has been sending her. Katya contemplates walking up to them with a smile and some ready-made reaction phrases for when they start talking about how terrible and idiotic boys are, but the vibration of her phone clears her mind instantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Finally.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She had been waiting for this email all day, checking her phone every ten minutes during school and never taking her eye off of it at home, while getting ready to come here tonight. Fucking finally. Dolly doesn’t normally take this long to respond, so maybe she’s had a busy day today but looks like she’s free now. If Katya’s quick, maybe they can email back and forth so she won’t have to crawl out of this party. She feels her loneliness slipping away though her fingers as she fumbles her way into her purse with a smile, looking for her phone, already thinking of all the things Dolly might have said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya knows she has given Dolly the kind of power over her that you probably shouldn’t give to a stranger. Well, she’s not a super stranger. So far, Dolly knows more about Katya than her best friends do, which should tell you enough about the kind of relationship they have. As much as Katya wishes Mrs. Michaels would chill the fuck out and maybe move to Hawaii or Japan, the bitch was right. She needed exactly what Dolly is giving to her, even if she doesn’t have a name for what this is yet. This week itself was a good example of the effect her internet friend has been having on her, considering it started with pure paranoia over the fuckboy trio made up of that kept tormenting her and ended with her making smart decisions about her future. She smiles at her phone right before unlocking it, clutching it tightly in her hands as if someone were trying to steal it away from her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. Her heart sinks down to the pit of her stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some idiot named Brian, who she doesn’t know, sent her a friend request on Facebook. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grunts and chugs the rest of the beer on her cup, then crumples it in her hand, letting it fall on the steps beside her. Katya insists, opening her Gmail app and refreshing it, just to make sure. Nothing. She takes the crumpled red cup and throws it as far as she can, accidentally hitting some dude on the back of the head. He turns to look, confused, and Katya sinks her nose on her phone screen, pretending she isn’t there. She sighs and opens her last sent email, reading it over. Did she say something wrong?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Dolly really doesn’t want to talk about boys. Katya wonders if anything that she said could have made her feel bad in any way, after all, Dolly’s anxiety is much worse than Katya’s and something there could have triggered her. She shouldn’t have insisted. God, she’s a terrible person. Without realizing, she starts tapping her foot. She’s too insensitive to keep a healthy friendship with anyone and the only person who was willing to actually be there for her has now been permanently hurt by her and she won’t be forgiven. Oh no. The thoughts swarm around her brain and sting it like bees, traveling down her esophagus right into her stomach. Katya places a hand over her belly, feeling herself breathe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not now. Literally any time but now, no, no, no. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s had a few of these at school already, not half as many as she’s had at home, but it doesn’t mean she’s used to them. Every time they come back she remembers why she hates them so much. The alcohol doesn’t help. Her senses are numb enough that she’s not able to differentiate what’s real and what isn’t and when she tries to touch her face she doesn’t feel it under the pads of her fingers and that’s what makes her breathing stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Katya?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks up to find Gigi and Dave, her football player of the week, with drinks in their hands and lipstick smudges on both of their faces. “Oh, hi,” she exhales. “Sup?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay? You’re pale,” Gigi gently plops down next to her. “Are you… you know…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya nods. “I think I am,” she responds. Gigi purses her lips and rubs her hand across her back, patting it ever so slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, honey… Okay. Um, you remember what Mrs. Michaels told you, don’t you?” Katya nods again. “I need you to inhale right now while I count to three, okay? Don’t let it out yet. One, two, three....” She obeys, feeling the air coming in and filling all of the empty space inside her lungs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh… What’s going on?” Dave whispers to Gigi, trying not to make it obvious, but Katya hears it anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not now Dave! Can you go get Monét, please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... Sure. Be right back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya looks at Gigi with her cheeks now reddened. Gigi smiles before realizing it. “Oh, you can exhale now,” she giggles. “Sorry, I forgot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” Katya breathes out exaggeratedly, feeling her heart rate increase. She tries to touch her face again. “No, it’s not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gigi scoots closer to her and tugs her ginger hair behind her ear. “Let’s do that one more time, yeah? One, two, three… Yeah, good job.” She touches Katya’s arm. “Can you feel this?” Katya nods one more time. “That’s very good. You can let the air out now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Gi,” she mutters, trying to breathe normally again. “You have really fucking good timing,” she laughs. Gigi smiles back fondly, linking their arms together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad I got here in time,” she shakes her head. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have made you come here tonight, especially after you told us we were wrong about the Chad thing. I can’t believe we even considered… We should have been smarter. Do you want to go home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not yet, I, uh…” Katya looks up, running her tongue over her teeth. She exhales sharply. “C-Can I talk to you about something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About anything you want, Kat.” There is a moment of silence between them as people start screaming at the song that has just started playing. “Is it about why you almost had a… thingy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anxiety attack is not a bad word,” Katya tells her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nevermind it. But, uh, yeah. It’s kind of about that.” Katya starts picking the chipped nail polish off the tips of her fingers. “Okay, let’s say you want to talk to a friend, a somewhat close friend, about boys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... Okay…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you think this is a normal, chill subject, all girls like to talk about boys. Then your friend doesn’t answer your question directly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was the question?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What type of boy she likes. That’s what I asked. But she never answered me and when I insisted on it, she simply stopped responding, which to me looks like she clearly doesn’t want to talk about it and now I feel terrible. What would you do? Like, maybe try to reach out? Or just leave it be until she comes forward about it?” Katya brings her fingers close to her lips and starts biting her chipped nail polish off. “I didn’t realize it could be something personal, or I don’t know. Why do you think she won’t answer me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gigi huffs, holding Katya’s hand between hers, eyebrows raised up. “I would consider that maybe this person is not comfortable telling what type of boy they like because maybe they’re not… into boys?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something inside of Katya’s brain clicks. Dolly doesn’t want to talk about boys, avoids speaking of romance, and has more than once mentioned secret reasons on why she’d like to leave Leegreat Haven. Of fucking course, she’s so stupid. “Oh, fuck.” Gigi smiles tenderly at her, tightening the grip on her hand. Something inside of her shifts. The wasps which inhabited her stomach before seem to be gone, replaced by about a hundred thousand butterflies. Extremely agitated butterflies, but fluttery all the same. She doesn’t catch her smile in time to hold it back. A certain lightness sheds over her chest the same way it does when she receives good news she’d been waiting for and her brain goes quiet for a moment with a sigh of relief. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Finally</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thinks to herself so quietly it nearly goes unnoticed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there anything you need to tell me?” Gigi asks, then looks for Katya’s eyes. Pure panic flashes all over her face and she instinctively smiles, playing it cool. The backs of her knees start to sweat. Does Gigi know about Dolly? Fuck, she tries to recall any moment in which she could have left her phone unattended, even if for only a second, she tracks back all of the things she’s told her and Monét to check if she accidentally let anything slide and she searches Gigi’s eyes for the kind of judgment she hopes won’t be there, but is afraid to find anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like… Are you talking about yourself?” Katya’s eyebrows knit together, then immediately shoot up as she realizes this was never about Dolly. It’s worse. “Are you trying to come out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? I’m… I don’t… No!” Katya blushes furiously, freeing herself from Gigi’s touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine if you are, it’s not that much of a surprise if I’m honest. Monét and I will always love you no matter what. You know that right?” Gigi brings both of her hands up to her heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so glad to hear that but I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> gay, Genevieve, chill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Are you sure?” Gigi shows her perfectly straight white teeth in an awkward attempt at a smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya chuckles. “I think I would’ve known by now if I were a lesbian.” Gigi’s furrowed brow is enough of a hint for Katya to realize how mortified she is. She should be. Both she and Monét have heard Katya be called a dyke up and down the school hallways enough times to know what that means to her. But Katya remembers what Dolly told her about them trying their best and reaches for her friend’s hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Gigi doesn’t look up, cheeks burning red. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about it. I promise you that if I ever have anything to tell you and Monét I will, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gigi nods. “I’d understand if you didn’t, though,” her friend sighs. Now it’s Katya's face that twists in confusion. As she opens her mouth to ask what she means by that, somebody slaps her thighs so loudly that Gigi almost falls backward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“YEKATERINA!” Chad yells at her, close enough for her to feel his hot breath on her face. It smells like cheap beer and old, stale McDonald’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Chad,” she responds, trying her best to back away from him while Gigi gets herself together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hanging out with Ms. Goode tonight, I see,” he continues, hands still on her thighs. Maybe Dolly isn’t wrong when she avoids talking about boys. “Yekaterina, did you know that you’re the hottest junior at our school? No offense Gigi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“None taken,” she raises her brows and camouflages a snicker.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ugh. Katya looks at Gigi, who mouths her “sorry”, then smiles at Chad. He is the alphaof the trio of fuckboys who used to be friends with her sister and had a tendency to bully her when she was younger. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to have heard the conversation going on between them since he used to display such passion for yelling the D-word in Katya’s face at any given chance. His sudden interest in her and her friends is not only suspicious, but also creepy as fuck. Gigi and Monét would do whatever it took to get their attention and please them, but ever since Katya came clean to them about last year’s incident with Chad and how she actually felt, the girls’ attitudes changed dramatically towards them, especially towards the leader of the pack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chad was actually her first kiss. It happened last year when she was a sophomore. Katya had always thought her first kiss would be soft and smooth, with hands touching cheeks and maybe a strong grip to the waist, to show how much it meant, and she would picture herself slowly pulling away and smiling while his hands still rested on her face, caressing it with his thumb. I know. Gross. The real thing turned out to be way, way worse. It started with a bet to see who was smart enough to kiss the dyke first, but Katya didn’t know that then. Chad waited until she had drunk enough vodka with lemon soda at a party to pull her into a random bedroom and violently smash his face against hers, shoving his tongue so deep down her throat she gagged. Luckily, Brooke found them in time and yelled a million curse words in Chad’s face before dragging Katya out of that house and then straight home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She remembers that night way too well, because they both laid in Brooke’s bed, cuddling and waiting for the alcohol to wear off when Brooke asked her how she was feeling. “Like shit,” Katya told her. Brooke hugged her closer. “I didn’t want that,” she completed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chad is an asshole, but I promise you that while I’m around, he won’t put his hands on you anymore,” Brooke said. Too bad she isn’t around anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is… Is this what kissing is like?” Katya asked her after a minute of silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wet.” Katya frowned. “Gropey. Teeth clashing. Absolutely no other feeling but confusion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brooke chuckled. “Sometimes it is. You’re gonna end up kissing a lot of people who you have absolutely zero feelings for if you continue to follow me around these parties. I honestly think it’s good for you. Like, for anyone. It teaches you how to kiss without the emotional damage and baggage that comes with kissing, so when you kiss someone you actually like, you’ll be a pro.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it always bad to kiss someone when you don’t have feelings for him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it can be really good. But kissing someone you do have feelings for? Girl, I can’t wait for you to feel that.” Katya smiled at the thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it like?”, she asked, eyes glimmering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brooke sighs. “It feels like you’re in a movie. Time stops around you and suddenly you can feel all of your emotions times ten, and your touch too. It feels like you’re supposed to be doing it, like it’s the right thing for you. Sometimes the funny thing is that you don’t even know how much you like someone until you kiss them and you feel all these things and it dawns on you, like ‘fuck, I think I’m falling in love.’” She smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya turned around to face her sister, now lying on her stomach, elbows pressed against the mattress. “Brooke Lynn Zamolodchikova Hytes, if you don’t tell me who made you feel like that I’m telling mom about your fake ID stash.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of that weekend went smoothly, Katya remembers. But then came Monday and the giggles as soon as she walked into the school. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh nice</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They’ve heard about my little shitshow</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Now she wishes it had been just that. As soon as Monét spotted her, she took her hand. She had never seen Monét with such a dark expression in her eyes before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need to see this,” she told Katya, handing her phone to the girl. She regrets pressing play to this day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the video, Chad, Matt, and Brad plotted the details of their bet and then suddenly, a hidden cell phone in the seemingly random bedroom he had pulled her into caught the entire act on camera. The caption? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jock tricks dyke into making out gone wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It sounds like something you’d find on Pornhub.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Watching herself in that situation was the single most humiliating thing she has ever been through. She recalls the exact feeling of her guts disintegrating and then burning inside of her, but she told herself she couldn’t cry. If she did, they all would know there was something wrong, that something got to her. And she couldn’t let them know. So instead of crying, she laughed it off. She said “oh, guess I’m going viral now” and told Brooke it was not a big deal and that she didn’t have to break ties with the boys because of her. She had to watch the video over and over again to process what happened and every time she saw it, she could feel the taste of Chad’s lips and the memory always made her gag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her first thought was that she most definitely did not enjoy kissing a boy. Then, she stopped for a second and realized that perhaps she hadn’t enjoyed kissing that one specific boy. It was really killing two birds with one stone when the solution she found to both of her problems was to make out with as many boys as she could, which would not only completely erase the idea that she was a lesbian from everybody’s mind, but also erase the taste of Chad’s lips from hers. She has kissed about 85% of the boys her age at Sacred Heart of Jesus School and a few more from LH High. She never told anyone, but she hoped that in the middle of all this, she’d find the kiss Brooke had described to her, but it never came.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right now, it looks like it’ll never come. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, do you wanna, I don’t know… Go somewhere quiet? I need to have a chit-chat with you,” he licks his bottom lip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya gives him the biggest smile she can pull out of her ass. “I would love to, but do you know what I need right now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know… what is it?” Gigi watches in silence. She knows Katya way too well to predict what kind of bullshit she’s about to pull. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to take a dump. Like, a huge dump. The biggest turd known to mankind. I might even clog your toilet, so,” she shrugs. “It’s my bad if that happens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chad backs away, finally releasing her thighs. Gigi takes the opportunity to lean closer to Katya’s stomach. “I think I hear it rumbling,” she comments with the most serious face she can manage, to which Katya nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s coming on strong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, okay, yeah. You know where the bathroom is,” he scratches his head, brown hair fluttering above his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, everyone else will know too in twenty minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya kicks two giggly girls who had been touching up their makeup out of the bathroom as soon as she gets there. Apparently, they heard enough about her not to question and leave without protest, which for once makes her thankful for the reputation that follows her like a shadow. She locks the door behind her and bangs her head against it a couple of times before letting out a guttural grunt. In a swift motion, she takes a pack of Camel out of her purse between two fingers and snaps one out of the box. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Smoking inside of a bathroom is not her usual move, but tonight she’ll have it, ignoring how terrible her hair is going to smell after this. She sucks at the end of her cigarette holding the fire of her bright red lighter against the tip, then blows the smoke, dropping the lighter back inside her black leather purse. She had borrowed it from Brooke once, a couple of years ago, and ended up never giving it back - and now she never will. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wishes she hadn’t drunk anything tonight, this way she would be processing the feelings inside of her much better and the unspoken ones wouldn’t have come forward. She also wishes she didn’t know that was a lie. She taps the ashes down the sink and looks up to herself in the mirror. A smile creeps up without warning. “She’s fucking gay, ” she tells her reflection. Now she wishes she had an explanation for the satisfaction crawling up her chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her heart pounds. “Dolly is gay,” she repeats. “She likes girls. A ella le gustan las chicas.” She leans closer to the mirror. “она любит девушек,” she whispers. Katya bounces her head from side to side. The voice inside her head does a cartwheel. Placing the cigarette back between her lips and taking the first decent drag, she lets the smoke go straight to her lungs and rejoices in the feeling that spreads down from there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cigarette, which is stained red from her lipstick, now stains her fingers too. Katya sits on the toilet lid, crossing her legs. Another puff, another huff. And then, a thought. “Fuck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya listens to whatever The Weeknd song that was playing finish and every single white person in that house starts yelling to that fucking nae nae song, but it doesn’t even annoy her at this point. She simply flicks the butt of her cigarette into the sink and lights the next one. It has only dawned on her now that it is not normal to be happy - no, not only happy, but absolutely delighted - when you find out your friend likes girls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wouldn’t call herself any sort of gay’s right activist or ally, but mostly she doesn’t mind people being gay. It’s none of her business, is it? Katya even thinks gay people are a tad bit cooler than straight people and she’s sure once she gets out of this miserable little town, she’ll be friends with a bunch of homos and drag queens and whatever else may come into her plate. It feels like a comfortable crowd after spending all these years surrounded by conservative Christians. She’s never met a gay person before, but she supposes that being actively happy that somebody is LGBT is not the standard or correct response when they come out to you, or, in Dolly’s case, when they don’t. Unless you have a reason for that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She finishes her second cigarette almost at once. If before she wished not to have drunk anything at all, now she wants to find an entire bottle of tequila for herself. Maybe that’ll make her brain shut off and stop talking. Or is it her heart? Whatever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go home,” she tells herself, “before you do anything stupid.” Her hand stays on the door handle for a minute before unlocking it. “Go the fuck home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outside, a wide-eyed Monét awaits her with her arms crossed. “Did you lock yourself in the bathroom to smoke?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe.” Monét raises one eyebrow. “Fine, but it wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> to smoke. I… needed a break.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her friend envelops her in a hug after a moment of consideration. “I’m sorry about the whole Chad thing… Last year you were so sure of yourself when you told us it was alright and we really should have known better. You didn’t need to have come tonight, but I’m glad you’re here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine, forget about it. I just… I think I’m ready to go home now. I shouldn’t have come tonight, and it’s not even about Chad. I think it’s everything.” Katya pulls away, but Monét holds her arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can walk you home, if you want?” Katya smiles, taking the chance to squeeze her friend’s hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I need some time on my own. I could use the silence as well. But thanks, it’s sweet of you to offer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As long as you don’t tell anyone I’m being nice,” Monét chuckles and Katya accompanies her. “Should I say anything to Gigi? She seemed worried before sending me off to find you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just tell her I went home, I think.” A lightbulb pops over her head. “Also… Could you, like, find a way to clog this toilet?” Monét’s questions can be read all over her face. “Chad deserves it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t argue with that,” Monét high-fives Katya before letting her go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On her way home, which is a ten-minute walk, Katya smokes half of her pack. She steps on the very last butt right in front of her house and sighs, trying to convince herself to get inside. She feels a breeze pass by her and turns around, staring at the street. It’s two in the morning and she knows there won’t be any cars around until way after the sun’s come up. She doesn’t have to go home yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tentatively, she lays herself down right in the middle of the street, feeling the asphalt cool her back. She crosses her legs and looks up at the stars, refusing to stare at the brightest one in an attempt to avoid remembering Brooke, but it’s too late. Katya sighs, covering her eyes. None of this would be happening if Brooke were here right now. Her memory floats back to the feeling in her gut when she realized the truth about Dolly and she licks her lips. After two and a half seconds of procrastination, she grabs her phone and uses the last breath of her data to look up “am I a lesbian quiz” on Google. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ten quizzes later, she locks her phone and lets it fall to the ground, not caring if the screen cracks any more than it’s already cracked. She knows that strangers on the internet are right about her, but finds it hard to believe it anyway, mostly because she doesn’t want them to be right. She could use a word or two from her sister right now. Katya watches the sky now, looking for the star she named after Brooke, searching the void for the brightest of its spots. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish you were here with me right now,” she whispers. “You’d know exactly what to say to me, exactly what I need to hear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The darkness doesn’t respond, but it nearly swallows her. She watches the moon, wondering what it’s like to be in the middle of all of these blots of light and still not be able to reach any of them. She chuckles. “I feel you,”  she tells her, knowing there will be no answer. Right here, mountains of words and crashing waves of feelings stumbling through her mind, surrounded by all of the burning bodies of gas in the universe, she has never felt lonelier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, she thinks of Dolly and smiles. It’s a good reminder that she isn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>August 30th, 2015. Monday, 12:34 p.m.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know you don’t want to, but you have to talk about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya stares back at Mrs. Michaels, leans back on her chair and crosses her arms. The last 72 hours of her life have been a complete mess and the only two people she would consider talking to this about are either dead or part of the problem. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lack of response from Dolly has been slowly activating the part of her brain that is responsible for her anxiety, which means she hasn’t slept in two days and is now full of existential dread. If she thought something was wrong on Friday, now she was sure. She fucked up, she fucked up bad. She wants to write Dolly and tell her that she’s sorry, that she didn’t mean to be intrusive and that maybe they’re the same, she’s just trying to figure it out still, but her courage is drained every time she thinks about actually typing out the words she has never said out loud. She needs Brooke right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>None of the five showers she took this weekend washed away the perpetual missing spot in her heart. The loneliness, which had calmed down after she thought of Dolly, came back stronger when she realized that she was 100% on her own. She feels exactly like the moon, surrounded by stars but only being able to reach the void. If Brooke were here with her now, none of this would be happening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s why this morning, in math class, when Mrs. Filter accidentally called her by her sister’s name, she broke down and cried. That’s also why she’s stuck here in Mrs. Michaels’ office right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right, I don’t want to talk about it,” Katya snaps back. Her cheek is still a little stained from the black mascara she tried to put on today in hopes it would make her look more awake. The counselor sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are things at home, Yekaterina?” She takes her pen and writes something down. “Same old?” Katya nods. “And has your pen pal been of any help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya swallows dry. “Yeah, but… I don’t know. I, uh, I still haven’t told her about Brooke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” her pen continues moving. “Would you mind sharing what made you choose not to speak up about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya stays silent for a moment, trying to think of an answer. All she can think about is the ache in her heart whenever she thinks about Dolly. “Actually, there’s something else I want to talk about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go on,” Mrs. Michaels encourages with a small spark of pride in her eyes and a quiet flush on her cheeks. Katya resists the impulse to roll her eyes as she stares at her counselor, knowing just how happy she must be now that Katya is “playing along”.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I made a mistake with my pen pal,” she confesses. “I think I said something that might have hurt her and now I literally can’t sleep thinking about it.” She holds back a sigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Michaels takes a note, one eyebrow raised. “How has that made you feel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya immediately regrets bringing this up, feeling her eyes start to fill up. “Like I’ve lost the last person I could count on at all.” She sniffles. “It sounds way too fucking familiar and I don’t wanna have to go through this again, I don’t think I can. It hurts too much.”</span>
</p><p><span>The counselor offers her a sympathetic smile and a box of tissues, but Katya doesn’t reach for them. “I know I’m going to sound strange, but I’m actually happy to hear about this.” Katya shoots her a menacing squint. “To me, it seems like the project is fulfilling its purpose. See, the idea behind getting you two in touch is exactly that you help each other learn how to deal with your emotions and with the anxiety that comes with them. It’ll be a good conversation to have when she tells you more about what upset her and you let her know how you felt about it, don’t you think? Hearing about it and putting yourselves in each other’s shoes can teach you a lot about your</span> <span>own feelings.” Katya nods. “But I must admit that it does sadden me a little to see you like this.”</span></p><p>
  <span>Katya furrows her brow. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Michaels joins her hands together and looks Katya in the eye. “I mean that the Yekat… the Katya that we all know and love doesn’t usually wait around to get the answers she wants and she’s not afraid to show her emotions either, or do I have to remind you of that piece you pulled with the tampons?” Katya chuckles, shaking her head. The counselor smiles along. “Don’t get me wrong, we, your family and I, still love you just the same, like we always have, but we miss seeing you be your true, authentic, fearless self. Right now you’re so caught up inside your own head that you’ve let all of your fears and insecurities surround you and that's all you seem to see. It hurts us to see you feeling this way about yourself and the world around you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not wrong,” Katya scoffs. She knows Mrs. Michaels isn’t wrong, but she also doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do about it. Meditate? See a therapist? Face her problems? Ha! As if!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand and respect that this is part of your mourning process and that it won’t last forever, but I also know that it’s probably in times like this that you feel the loneliest, wishing Brooke could be right here with you. What’s ironic to me is that if she were here, how do you think it would make her feel to see you like this?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, first of all, ouch. Second, she can’t just make Katya think about her feelings this way, can she? She surely can’t. Katya won’t fall for it, she’s been building brick walls around herself for a reason and if a mediocre school counselor thinks she can get through it, she’s wrong, she’s dead wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it would break her heart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I agree with you. Brooke loved you very much, Yekaterina. You were her favorite person. How do you think she would want you to feel?” Katya feels one lonely tear stream down her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She always wanted me to be happy, healthy. She would want me to live my best life and not let myself down like this. But it’s not that easy! I can’t help feeling like shit all the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are not only allowed to feel this way, but you’re also </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to feel all of the things you’re feeling right now,” the counselor pushes the tissues closer to Katya, who takes one with her poorly manicured nails. “It’s the way our brains know how to process loss, it’s perfectly natural, even if it sucks. But, as healthy as it is to experience the full spectrum of emotions we go through while grieving, you have to be careful not to lock yourself in a negative feeling box, which I think it’s what you’re doing right now, even if you’re not aware of it.” The look in Katya’s face easily translates her emotions. “What I’m trying to tell you is that, subconsciously, you’re so focused and surrounded by the negative feelings towards Brooke’s death, like guilt and loneliness, for example, that whenever your brain tries to feel a positive emotion you shut yourself out and those negative feelings take you over. Does that make any sense?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck. “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the part that’s unhealthy. Life goes on, Yekaterina. I know that it feels wrong right now, and you’re not going to believe at all, but the world is still a funny, loving, and joyful place even if Brooke’s not in it anymore. Learning that is the hardest part.” Katya’s silence prompts Mrs. Michaels to write a new note. “Can we make a deal?” The girl looks up. “Whenever you start feeling overwhelmed, blinded, or suffocated by any of these bad feelings that you have, I want you to think of what Brooke would want you to do - and whatever it is I want you to do it, in honor of your sister. I think it’ll be a good way to remind you that taking care of yourself is a valid way to honor her memory.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Deal,” Katya says. “I, uh… I don’t think I’d feel so alone if I started thinking like that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s try to see how that plays out if we tried to apply that to your current situation? You think you’ve made a mistake and your friend isn’t talking to you. How are you feeling right now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m scared. I don’t want… I don’t want her to hate me and I also don’t want to lose her. I wish we could just forget about this and move on because I don’t think I’m brave enough to talk to her right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what do you think Brooke would want you to do in this situation?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya sighs, crumpling a wet tissue in her hand. She swallows the tears that try to come out. “Brooke was always very transparent when it came to feelings, and if she ever did anything wrong, she’d apologize immediately, with no shame to it.” Mrs. Michaels nods. “I guess I need to quit being a coward and tell her that I feel terrible and that I owe her an apology, if she’s willing to take it. I just don’t want her to hate me.” Katya shrugs. “I should probably let her know that too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s my girl,” Mrs. Michaels smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Out of all the sessions she’d had with the counselor so far, this has been definitely the least worse out of them all. Katya almost felt relieved, almost being the keyword. Their talk really made her rethink her approach to this situation and suddenly apologizing seemed like the only reasonable step to take next. As she shut the door of the counselor’s office behind her and stared at her phone’s cracked black screen, she thinks of all the ways she could try and apologize. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Dolly</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she rehearses, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I should never have insisted on the topic. I’m sure you have your reasons not to have answered me the first time and my approach was neither sensible or sensitive, which is why I sincerely apologize. Also, are you gay? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Too straight to the point? Ugh. She starts over. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Dolly</span>
  </em>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya doesn’t have time to finish the thought. Her phone suddenly vibrates in her hand, showing her the notification she thought would never come. She knows it doesn’t mean she’s got a get out of jail free card, considering she still has to apologize, but her heart takes one extra slow beat as she reads it over before clicking the pop-up. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So, about that…</span>
  </em>
  <span> the subject says. Katya almost laughs at the realization that she hasn’t been the only one overthinking her words this past weekend. She clicks the notification with no words in her head other than her friend’s name. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dolly</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dear Jodie,<br/>I don’t think my answer will own up to your expectations. This is not something that I usually talk about.<br/>I actually never talk about this. <br/>Yours, Dolly.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello babes &lt;3 another week, another update! Unfortunately, I don't think I'll be able to upload as frequently anymore because uni is back next week and this semester is going to be crazy, but I promise to always update as soon as possible &lt;3<br/>Thank you to my beta <a href="https://twitter.com/fuckzamo">Rachel</a> and if you find any mistakes it's always her fault. Also, remember how last chapter was on the longer side? Can't say the same about this one, hehe, sorry. You can yell at me about it on <a href="https://twitter.com/sleepymattel">Twitter</a> and <a href="https://highonbrunost.tumblr.com">Tumblr</a>! Hope you enjoy it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Date: August 30th, 2015. Monday, 12:57 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: So, about that…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Jodie,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I don’t think my answer will own up to your expectations. This is not something that I usually talk about.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I actually never talk about this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yours, Dolly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Date: August 30th, 2015. Monday, 01:00 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: RE: So, about that…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Dolly,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, but, and I don’t know if that’s any comfort, I think I’m expecting what you think I’m not expecting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Love, Jodie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Date: August 30th, 2015. Monday, 01:12 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: RE:RE: So, about that…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I’m gay.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Date: August 30th, 2015. Monday, 01:15 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: Maybe we could start a club after all…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I think I might be gay too. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>If she had some sort of formula to figure out what’s going to end up being the reason for their friendship to dissolve, she would already have solved this, but, unfortunately, people aren’t numbers who can be easily calculated into an answer. People demand to be lived through and to give you what they’re here to give you, and it’s nothing but Trixie’s job to figure out what Jodie has in store for her.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>One day late, but I made it! First week back in college was... intense, to say the least. Still, I felt bad for leaving you homos hanging with such a short chapter last week hehehe. I'm not sure when I'm gonna be able to update again, but no matter when it is I will, as usual, be counting on <a href="https://twitter.com/fuckzamo">Rachel</a>, <a href="https://zamo-95.tumblr.com">Zamo-95</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fedu31/pseuds/Fedu31">Fedu</a> to help me out with editing, ideas, and literally anything at all! A dream team! Gracias, las quiero &lt;3<br/>Stalk me on <a href="https://highonbrunost.tumblr.com">Tumblr</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/sleepymattel">Twitter</a>! I promise I'm nice!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> August 30th, 2015. Monday, 04:35 p.m. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Trixie’s laugh is so strong it physically hurts her stomach and her cheeks. She’s pretty sure that she might have woken up her neighbor from his <em> siesta </em> with how loud it is, and covering her mouth doesn’t really help that much. </p><p>She laughs for ten minutes straight, so hard that her eyes water and she has trouble breathing. Lying on her bed with her hands over her face, wiping away the tears that streamed out while she cackled like a maniac, Trixie pauses for a brief moment to let her brain process what just happened. None of the scenarios that she had made up in her head that weekend could have predicted that this is how her coming out would end up: with hysterical laughter and a gay friend. </p><p>Jodie’s email sits on her phone read, but not replied. Trixie had avoided her phone since Friday, when she shoved it into her bedside drawer to try and think things through before spilling out her biggest, darkest secret, and thought she might not be able to handle Jodie’s answer right away after finally letting it out. Her curiosity wasn’t keen on letting her rest, though, so she ended up reading it as soon as she got home. She’s glad she didn’t wait. </p><p>Had she known this was the feeling of coming out, she wouldn’t have waited so long to do that either. Her mouth widens in a smile and she feels the flush crawling up her chubby cheeks. “I’m gay,” she whispers. She had never said that out loud before. Trixie licks her lips. “I’m gay,” she repeats, louder. “I like girls. I’m a <em> lesbian </em>,” she sings and chuckles, getting up from her bed and posing in front of her mirror before pointing to her own reflection. “Did you know you’re gay? ‘Cause you’re super gay. L-E-S-B-I-A-N, that’s how you spell your name.” It feels good to say it, feels right. “Hi, my name’s Trixie and I’m here to steal your girl,” she points her finger guns at the mirror and immediately cringes. “Or not.” </p><p>She takes a step closer to her full body mirror, which is covered in holographic stickers and propped up against the wall and blinks at herself. The best part about being herself right now is that she’s not alone. </p><p>See, Trixie always thought she was the only sapphic in Leegreat Haven, and she protected her secret with her teeth and claws, terrified of what would happen if anyone found out. Night after night, she laid in her bed longing for the day she’d be free of this place, finding herself in a big city like Milwaukee or Madison and making friends to whom she’d be able to tell exactly who she was, no secrets to be kept. Maybe one of these friends could end up being more than a friend. It could take them both a while to figure out their feelings but once they did, they’d know it was for real. Then they could move into a shoebox apartment and not be able to afford a real TV so they’d only watch films on their laptops snuggling in bed because they wouldn’t be able to afford a couch either. They would maybe have a problematic shower which would take ten minutes to heat up, so they’d know to leave it on and make some tea before hopping in. When their friends came over, Trixie would pick up her guitar and play their favorite songs. And they would be very happy, she and her girlfriend. They’d live day after day never wishing to be anywhere else but next to each other.</p><p>Not that she has her hopes up or anything. </p><p>Dela will end up figuring it out eventually, but Trixie hopes to god that it won’t be anytime soon. In her fantasy, she gets to tell her everything when they’re both done with high school and her friend has had the chance to go out and see the world a little. She’ll never tell Shangela. Her mom will only know after she’s moved out and is able to pay her own bills. Trixie knows that her fear of being kicked out by her mom is mostly irrational, but she’d rather play it safe anyway. </p><p>Her breath fogs the mirror and she smiles once again, taking a step away from it, picking up her guitar and plopping down on her bed. Maybe now she can learn how to play Girls Like Girls by Hayley Kiyoko? She’s been obsessed with it ever since it came out, but she couldn’t tell anyone. Trixie strums a few chords. “<em> I like girls, I like girls, </em> ” she sings to the tune of Let It Go. “ <em> Gotta hold it back some more, I like girls, I like girls, and Jodie likes girls too. </em>”</p><p> <em> Jodie likes girls too </em>. It feels like a dream to think that. </p><p>Trixie bites her lips in excitement. She has Jodie now, in a way that she’s never had anyone before. It’s still dawning on her that she’s not the only one and suddenly the opportunities seem endless. For a moment she feels sorry for Dela and Shangie because she knows that, no matter what, they’ll never have the same relationship with her as she’ll eventually grow with Jodie. She’s never talked to another gay person before and now she feels like a kid going to Disneyland for the first time. She immediately felt a unique connection with Jodie as soon as she read that email, a connection she knows doesn’t belong to people who don’t feel the same way as she does. As they do. </p><p>She keeps thinking that maybe now she can finally tell someone about her gay panic moments, like whenever she watches The L Word or sees literally any pretty girl, much like that one who showed up at the Screen Queen last week. She blushes at the thought. With all going on that week, she hadn’t given herself much time to bask in her own gayness, as ironic as that might sound, considering her gayness was the main cause of her worries. Well… She is free of that now. God, she was pretty. But not like soft pretty, it was more of a robust, “please snap my neck” kind of pretty. She’s sure Shangela came this close to clocking whatever tension had been built between them, but thankfully her natural social inability and awkwardness may have covered it up for her. </p><p>For a moment, Trixie considers. Should she tell Jodie about the movie theater girl? God, what was her name again? She knows it starts with a C or a K, it’s on the tip of her tongue, but it doesn’t wanna come out. Ugh, whatever. What she knows is that she’s never had the chance to actually tell someone “hi, I saw a cute girl today and nearly drowned in my own drool,” and now she does. Then, so unexpectedly it makes Trixie move her hand up to her heart in a sudden motion, comes a sting of realization to her chest. What if Jodie thinks she’s coming on too strong? Being creepy? Do lesbians actually talk about girls the way straight girls talk about boys? Or worse, the way straight boys talk about girls? What if Trixie sounds like a straight boy?</p><p>She almost gags at the thought. She doesn’t want to seem predatory when talking about girls, but what if she does? Then Jodie won’t talk to her because she’s a fucking creep who can’t stop talking about boobs... Even if she’s never spoken one word about boobs in her life before. Trixie stops on her tracks and, after a brief moment, sighs in relief. She hasn’t been a creep until now, she holds her thoughts well hidden under the carpet in her brain. She doesn’t have to worry about it. She nods to herself, trying to bring some comfort after the sudden rush of anxiety flowing through her blood, but she doesn’t get even close to calming down when the second wave hits. </p><p>What if it’s the exact opposite of this and she <em> doesn’t know </em> how to be gay? She has never had this kind of interaction before, of course she’ll fuck it up on her first try. Instead of being gross, she’ll be immature and inexperienced and Jodie will think it’s boring to talk to her because she’s probably very naïve and no-fun, which is already true in the straight world, must be much worse in the gay one. Wait, is she even gay? She might not be. This could all be one big mistake and she’s not attracted to girls at all, at least not in the same way Jodie seems to be. She has never kissed a girl while Jodie probably kisses girls all the time, after all, she does party a lot, or used to, or whatever. Shit, if Jodie ever wants to talk about their experiences with girls, what is Trixie going to say besides “I had too many wet dreams about Demi Lovato when I was 13”? Dreams don’t count, especially when you’re not really gay! It’s been all inside her head all this time. She’s probably asexual, that’s it.</p><p>Trixie looks up at her wall, where a young Martina McBride and a young Dolly Parton stare down at her with heavy judgment in their eyes. Shame crawls up her neck. They know why they’re up there. She shakes her head. Scratch that, she’s definitely gay, she’s just bad at it.</p><p>She stands up and taps at her thighs. Whether she’s gay or not, she still has to make dinner and she’s almost too late to start it. Her socked feet make nothing but silent thumps as she descends the tired wooden staircase and avoids that one crooked step that always gets her in the morning when she’s still half asleep and her body begs her for breakfast. She stares at the step right in the eye while going past it, telling it that she’s awake enough now, and probably even too awake. Ha! She might not sleep for days if her mind continues shouting at her the way it is at the moment, so who’s laughing now, crooked step? </p><p>The step doesn’t answer. Coward. </p><p>She fumbles around the fridge and the pantry until she gathers all she needs to make a decent dinner for her mom, and after boiling the water and letting the pasta cook, she chops an onion. She’s so focused on not losing a finger that for a moment she forgets what she was even thinking about. Even though her eyes are watery and sting, her head feels like a deserted island with the freshest of all breezes running through it. She lets herself wander through her mind, rummaging around labyrinths in her brain, only to end up in the same spot, thinking about her faceless friend.</p><p>Trixie remembers all of the guided meditation videos she has watched on Youtube and how they have advised her not to fight her thoughts, but instead to watch them, letting them come and go freely, and decides to do exactly that. The first thing to come to her mind is what Jodie must be feeling right now, because Trixie is confused as hell, that’s for sure, but also immensely relieved. Sharing a secret makes it a lot lighter to carry it on your back. She tries to imagine if Jodie is out to any of her friends, but assumes she isn’t, given how they handled the fuckboy situation she had been going on about in the past week. She tries to imagine Jodie at those parties she’s talked about, kissing girls in games of Truth or Dare and playing it off like it’s a joke then lying in bed at night not being able to get it out of her head. She’s probably done this, Trixie guesses. She wonders if Jodie has ever caught feelings for someone who would never be able to feel the same for her.</p><p>She lets out a stream of hot air through her nose along with a soft “humpf”, avoiding a chuckle. Trixie knows all about catching feelings for the wrong people, Ms. Act is living proof of that. All she needs is one extra ounce of attention, as long as it doesn’t regard her mental illness, and boom, there you go. Having a crush on your Geography teacher is pathetic enough, but trying to fail the class on purpose is the kind of greatness Trixie strives for. Unfortunately, her con didn’t work because turns out Ms. Act, or “you can just call me Courtney, dear”, turned out to be extremely sympathetic and understanding of her situation dealing with anxiety and let her do an extra paper to get the grade she needed instead of tutoring her after a failed grade as she did with other students. Trixie rolls her eyes at the thought and her muscles tighten. God, what an ass she used to be back in her first year of high school.</p><p>Thankfully, she has either learned to manage her feelings and expectations much better - or simply hasn’t met anyone interesting enough to develop a crush on. The Screen Queen girl doesn’t count, since Trixie knows nothing about her other than that she is the prettiest girl she’s ever seen. Though Trixie is easily moved by someone’s appearance, eye candy won’t cut it for her, and that’s why she doesn’t even think that much about Katie or Cara or whatever her name is. She truly is beautiful, but what else is she? They’ve only exchanged a couple of terrifyingly awkward words before parting ways and never seeing each other again, leaving Trixie only with her punk-ish vibe and startling eyes. Yes, these are a lot of big words for someone who doesn’t have a crush, but let her live her fantasy. The point is that no matter how infatuated Trixie is to someone’s face, it’s nothing compared to what’s beyond it.</p><p>Take Ms. Act herself, for example. Of course the first thing Trixie noticed about her was her dazzling supermodel figure, but no figure can tell as much about her as her accent or the way she always made jokes about communism leaning over Trixie’s desk when only they both could hear it, or the way she danced on that one prom (which Trixie didn’t attend, but heard it from Dela). If Ms. Act looked like a trainwreck Trixie would still have been head over heels for her because she knew what else was there. She smiles as Jodie crosses her mind once again. </p><p>Her energy brings a warmth to Trixie’s heart that she finds difficult to explain. It starts with her brutal honesty about her friends or her terrible drinking habits and ends with the way she uses her words to make Trixie blush trying to compliment her and ask her if she’s doing okay. Plus, she’s really fucking funny. That whole thing going on in the subject line about her kissing a dumpster is easily the best thing that happened in Trixie’s week other than, you know, finding out she’s not alone in her queerness. </p><p>Trixie blushes at the memory of Jodie calling her out on her lie after she said she wasn’t a romantic person when clearly she’s the sappiest of all saps. She finishes chopping the onion in a thousand tiny pieces and puts the knife down, resting both of her hands on the counter. In her mind, clear as day, she recalls what Jodie wrote to her: <em> you said it yourself you want to get out of here as soon as possible, and when you do that, you’ll meet an entire different world of people out there. Maybe you don’t even need to go far if your eyes are wide open </em>. For a moment, she ponders. “As if,” she whispers to herself. Having her eyes wide open won’t help her unless she stumbles upon another unsuspecting sapphic who happens to be looking for romance. </p><p>The third wave of panic splashes her in the face with violent realization and a chill runs up and down her spine. “Fuck,” Trixie exclaims, slamming her hand on the counter. She should have seen it coming as soon as she opened that goddamn email. She blows a pink-ish curl out of her eyesight and groans. An inexperienced lesbian who craves feeling wanted and being able to reach deeper into people’s soul meets another lesbian who gives her all of that and also makes her laugh? Trixie really doesn’t want to fall into the dumb, useless lesbian stereotype, yet here she is. It’s only a matter of time until she catches feelings for Jodie and ruins the best friendship she will ever have had (and may Bendela never hear this). </p><p><em> That’s why I can’t have nice things </em> , Trixie thinks. <em> Because I ruin them </em>. </p><p>She groans, picturing the whole thing like a movie in her head. She can almost see the glimmer in her own eyes every time she watches yet another Gmail notification pop up on her phone and imagines the smile she will eventually begin to open each time she gets to read through Jodie’s mind, which might become her favorite place to be. From what she’s already seen, it can be dark at times, but it’s as troubled as it is enticing - and most importantly, it’s never boring. She has also taken notice of Jodie’s terrible habit of making her laugh and Trixie knows one day her giggles will be heavy with words she’ll be too afraid to type. She watches her future self fumbling around her brain to find words that won’t give her away too easily in the middle of the night, rehearsing for the next email. </p><p>One day, Trixie will find herself so deep in Jodie’s head while reading whatever she has to say that her heart will do that thing where it beats twice at the same time then freezes, and that’s when she’ll know she will have ruined it forever. She takes two steps to the right and slams her head against the fridge. </p><p>She already likes Jodie too much, even if only as a friend, for it not to go wrong one way or another. If she had some sort of formula to figure out what’s going to end up being the reason for their friendship to dissolve, she would already have solved this, but, unfortunately, people aren’t numbers who can be easily calculated into an answer. People demand to be lived through and to give you what they’re here to give you, and it’s nothing but Trixie’s job to figure out what Jodie has in store for her. </p><p>Trixie sighs as she moves her arm to grab some garlic that’s sitting on the counter, but a miscalculation makes her arm hit the bowl full of tiny bits of onion and it stumbles its way down to the kitchen floor. She takes a deep breath and lets her hands cover her eyes.</p><p>Today is getting better by the minute. </p><p>***</p><p>Turns out Katya’s English homework doesn’t help to distract her from the thoughts that have been rummaging her head all day long. </p><p>She shuts her laptop closed and shoves an entire baby carrot in her mouth, chewing like a wild dog. The crunch makes her realize that, even though her head has been on the loudest setting all day, her afternoon has been rather silent despite the muffled jazz music coming from her neighbor’s house, the inconvenient clacking of her mom’s heels up and down the stairs or the insisting chirping of the birds who live on the tree that sits by her window. Being fully aware that she hasn’t missed the familiar <em> ding </em> of the notification she’s been longing for, Katya checks her phone one more time, only to be met with nothing but silly texts from her friends on their group chat. She doesn’t bother reading them before locking her phone again and throwing it across the room so it lands on her bed. A sigh escapes from her lips as she lets her forehead hit her desk with a thump and she closes her eyes.</p><p>It’s starting to get ridiculous. She bangs her head against the desk again. The way she lets Dolly’s radio silence control her brain is actually past the point of ridiculous, it’s downright pathetic - especially considering it’s not even the first time. Katya groans, thinking about how she should have learned from the last time and maybe not have told her “friend” that she thinks she’s gay, not only because it’s her biggest secret, but also because what the fuck kind of lesbian isn’t sure if she likes boobs or not? It should be easier than this. Maybe, if she hadn’t spent her entire childhood and adolescence trying to run away from mean hallway rumors, she would have developed a nicer relationship with her sexuality at twelve or thirteen and wouldn’t go around saying stupid shit like “I think I might be gay.” </p><p>Lifting her head, she takes a deep breath. “It’s fine,” Katya tells herself. “It’s gonna be fucking fine.” She tries to see it from Dolly’s perspective: maybe she hasn’t even opened the email yet. Maybe she’s too afraid to see what Katya has to say, and Kaya hates herself for how painfully well she can understand that. It’s brave of her to feel frustrated about Dolly’s reaction after coming out as if they’re not exactly on the same boat right now, trying to figure out the next step, what to say to each other and to themselves. The secret is out. Or, to word it better, it’s not a secret anymore. </p><p>She remembers in scaringly vivid detail the time Brooke almost ripped her secret out of her. </p><p>They were walking back from Blair’s birthday party at four in the morning, taking wobbly steps along the cobblestones that led up to their street, wrapped up in jackets they had stolen from the football guys and laughing about the retelling of the events from each other's perspectives and when her sister asked about the boys she had kissed, Katya’s instant reflex was to pretend to vomit. </p><p>“If you don’t like them, why do you always kiss them, then?” Brooke asked, still looking straight ahead. </p><p>Katya shrugged. “Isn’t that what you do?”</p><p>“It’s not the same. It’s fun for me, but why do I have a feeling it isn’t fun for you?” Katya didn’t answer. “Say something!” Silence. “You’re impossible, did you know that?”</p><p>“Why does it matter so much to you?”</p><p>“Because you weren’t like that before!” Brooke groaned, exhaling sharply. She stopped walking and grabbed Katya’s arm, forcing her younger sister to face her. “If this is because of Chad, I really need you to tell me.”</p><p>Katya was glad that her face was already red enough because of all the alcohol so that Brooke wouldn’t notice the flush spreading up from her neck. “I don’t give a shit about Chad.”</p><p>“You hate Chad.”</p><p>“You’re right, I hate Chad and kissing boys isn’t as fun for me as it should be. What else are you right about?” Katya pushed Brooke away from her with just enough strength that it made her sister take half a step back.</p><p>“Quit bitching, Katya. This is not about me being right, or about me at all. I’m worried about you, that’s all.”</p><p>“Then stop worrying, it’s that simple!”</p><p>“I’ll stop worrying when you stop trying to act like someone you’re not,” Brooke snapped. Katya felt an arrow being shot through her chest. </p><p>“What does that even fucking mean, Brooke? I don’t see you give Blair or Shea any shit for doing exactly the same thing… or the same guys.” Her voice echoed in the dimly lit street. </p><p>“Yeah but, Blair and Shea are s… My friends.” Katya raised an eyebrow at Brooke’s comment. “And you’re my sister. I’m just trying to look out for you.”</p><p>“I know you think you need to protect me, but I don’t need it anymore. I don’t want it anymore. I’m<em> fine </em>. Why aren’t you?” She hoped that the sweat dripping down her temples wouldn’t give away her lie, but Brooke didn’t even notice while her eyes turned red and she clutched her hands in fists. Even though Brooke wasn’t one to be easily angered, the line that Katya had crossed was scattered around the air in heavy words that lingered. </p><p>“You know what, Katya? I was gonna say that I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, but I do,” Brooke nodded her head, stepping closer to her sister. “And you’re gonna have to try a little harder if you ever want to convince anyone.”</p><p>The air weighed down on Katya’s lungs as her breath was the only sound to be heard before she broke the silence. “Convince anyone of what, Brooke?” She looked her in the eye and Brooke’s expression softened with regret immediately. </p><p>“I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”</p><p>“But you did.”</p><p>“I didn’t mean it,” Brooke tried.</p><p>Katya chuckled. “That didn’t stop you from saying it, did it?” Tears blurred her vision, but she refused to blink so they wouldn’t roll down her face - she knew once the first one went down, the others would follow in an inextinguishable flow. “Look, I know where you’re going with this and I really don’t wanna be a part of it.”</p><p>She turned to walk away, but Brooke’s long legs put her in advantage and she caught up way too fast, stopping Katya on her tracks. “I’m really sorry, Kat. That wasn’t fair.” Katya sniffed. “I, uh… I want you to be safe. And I want you to know you’re always safe with me.”</p><p>“Please don’t go there.”</p><p>“You’ll have to at some point.”</p><p>“Yeah, but not today,” Katya sighed between the tears she had failed to hold back. </p><p>“Katya… Are you sure there’s nothing you…?”</p><p>“Don’t ask me that,” Katya interrupted, “because I won’t answer.”</p><p>“That’s already an answer,” Brooke tried to get a hold of Katya’s hand, but she backed away. </p><p>Brooke was right. Katya shook her head and fought another nervous chuckle before looking her sister in the eye again. All of the voices in her head begged her to keep her mouth shut, even if she felt deep in her core that Brooke meant no harm, but the exact opposite of that: she meant so much love and concern towards Katya that she was willing to confront her about the one thing that shut everyone else up. Next to her sister, Katya felt as easily readable as a children’s book and if it continued that way her secret wouldn’t be safe for long. She only had one choice.</p><p>“Is that what you see when you look at me, Brooke?” Katya swallowed dry, one single tear streaking down her cheek. “The same dyke everyone else sees?”</p><p>“Kat, that’s not…” Katya’s insistent look seemed to have sucked every single word out of Brooke’s mouth. “Please don’t ask this. It’s not like that at all.”</p><p>“That’s already an answer,” Katya mocked, venom dripping from her tongue. Her older sister’s immediate reflex was to take a step back and let her mouth fall open, only to try and fix her expression by biting her lip so hard even Katya could taste the blood. Her eyes, usually as fair as the bluest sky, were dark and glimmering with wetness. She had never seen Brooke this heartbroken before. A wave of regret invaded her chest and she found herself swimming in it, taking it in by the drop. </p><p>“Katya, don’t…”</p><p>“No, Brooke. Just don’t, okay? I don’t wanna talk to you right now,” Katya turned and left, taking quick steps against the cold stone beneath her feet. She got home in no time, but only fell asleep after she heard Brooke come in half an hour later. </p><p>It fucking sucks that she can’t take a breath without being reminded of Brooke. Her sister surely is no longer alive, but that hasn’t stopped her from existing everywhere. And Katya is exhausted. She wishes she could keep her gayness to herself (and now to Dolly), but Brooke was there first, even before Katya herself. It makes sense she was so protective of her younger sister - she probably knew all along. </p><p>Her hungry hand reaches inside the bowl on her desk for one more baby carrot that will help crunch her anxiety away, but all she finds is the coldness of the empty dish. Katya grunts, fully aware that she should have stopped at her second refill but knowing she’s about to go get the third one anyway. This is one of those moments she wishes she were addicted to candy instead of alcohol, then maybe she’d be able to pop a chocolate bar from under her bed instead of a bottle of cheap vodka she seduced a twenty-two-year-old dude at a gas station into buying for her before everything happened. She grabs the bowl and makes her way to the door, thinking about the excuses she could give if her mother questions her about baby carrot binging and how “too much of anything can be bad for you, even if it seems healthy at first.”</p><p>She takes two steps into the corridor and towards the staircase before she notices Brooke’s bedroom door open and the lights on. </p><p>Her heart beats so fast she instinctively places her hand over it as her brain struggles to comprehend what’s going on. Brooke can’t be here, she’s dead. There is no reason or excuse for anyone to enter that room, it was the one silent agreement Katya thought everyone in that house would follow on the very day they came back from her funeral and locked the fucking door. Between the bats of her eyelashes, she makes out the silhouette of her mother, Irina,  sitting on the bed with her back to the door and her head hung low. Her blood turns to lava.</p><p>“What the fuck are you doing there?”, she yells, getting her mother’s attention. When she turns her head in Katya’s direction, her eyes are red and wet. </p><p>“Katya, I…” Irina starts, voice shaky and unsure. </p><p>“You can’t be there,” Katya says. “Why would you think it’s okay to be in her room, mom?”</p><p>Her mother stands up and turns to the door, wiping away her tears with her ring finger. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a while. Come sit next to me, малышка,” she tries to offer a smile. “I’m sure it would mean a lot to her.”</p><p>“It doesn’t mean shit to her, she’s <em> dead </em>,” she responds with a bitter taste on her tongue. “Get out of her bedroom.”</p><p>“We’re gonna have to start coming in sooner or later, whether you like it or not, Yekaterina. Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.”</p><p>“What for? To start cleaning it out so we can use the space better now that you have one less daughter to worry about?” Katya regrets the words as soon as she says them and doesn’t wait for her mother’s response before going back to her bedroom, leaving the empty bowl on the first surface that she finds and gathering what she judges to be a little more than enough change for a movie. She storms out of the house in a blur, shutting the door behind her and running down the street.</p><p>She doesn’t start crying until she’s halfway there and she doesn’t bother trying to stop before walking in. The Screen Queen feels more like home anyway. </p><p>As soon as she pushes the door open to the flickering lights and the smell of mold, she feels like she can breathe again. </p><p>“Hey there! Good to see you again,” Shangela exclaims from her counter with a smile, but upon a closer look her happy expression is dismantled and replaced by the kind of look she only sees in party bathrooms when drunk girls are crying over boys. She must look pathetic. “A-are you crying? What happened?”</p><p>“Just give me a ticket to whatever’s on tonight,” she rubs her wet cheeks. </p><p>“Sure, sorry.” Katya fumbles around her pockets trying to find the cash she had picked up in a rush before leaving the house and hands Shangela a crumpled twenty-dollar bill. “But the ticket’s only…”</p><p>“Keep it,” Katya sniffs and takes the ticket from the attendant’s hand. When she turns to the concession stand, she freezes under the wide eyes the popcorn girl gives her from under her big, round glasses while fiddling with the tips of her faded pink hair, which cascades down her shoulders. The front is pushed back and held in place by a pink bow and she looks a little bit like a doll with the softest features, but that Katya would hesitate to touch anyway. Redness crawls up her face as she walks towards her and the humiliation of crying in front of a pretty girl only adds to more tears. </p><p>None of them start the conversation when Katya is finally standing still before Trixie. Fuck, she had forgotten how cute the popcorn girl actually is. The last time she was here she decided that some mindless am-I-flirting-or-am-I-not-flirting behavior would be entertaining, but today she only watches the girl from a safe distance, observing her as she bites the inside of her cheek with a frown. To add insult to injury, she looks even more adorable when she does this.</p><p>In moments like this, Katya wishes she could be out to the world. She wishes she could simply look at a girl like Trixie, so soft and charming with her innocent blush and her seven feet long eyelashes, and say “hey, I think you’re pretty in a very gay way and I want to take you on a date and then kiss you until I can’t breathe anymore”, but these words will likely never leave her mouth. If she were immune to girls things would be a lot easier, especially now, but whenever Trixie bats her eyes Katya knows she can’t live any other way. </p><p>Instead of asking Trixie out on a date, Katya wipes her tears again before asking: “I’ve been here for a while now, aren’t you supposed to ask me what I want?”</p><p>Trixie shakes her head awake. “I’m sorry. You’re crying.” She immediately shuts her eyes and blushes. In another life, she might have been a bunny for all Katya knows. “That was stupid. I’ll just get your order.” Katya bites back a smile. “Please say something before I quit my job.”</p><p>She laughs at Trixie’s obvious awkwardness, and she’s glad she does even if her eyes are still puffy and her nose is still red. Her throat doesn’t feel like it’s in knots anymore. “Medium with extra butter.”</p><p>“Here you are,” Trixie says, then looks into Katya’s eyes. She doesn’t know what happens, but suddenly something clicks inside of the other girl’s head and she blurts out Katya’s name. </p><p>“... Yeah?”</p><p>Trixie is a blushing mess. “I-I, uh, your name…” Katya nods along. “I forgot. Earlier. Just remembered it.”</p><p>Katya’s eyes stop watering and her eyebrows meet at the center of her forehead. “Were you thinking about me earlier?” </p><p>“No, what? No,” Trixie fakes a smile and looks over to her sides. “When you walked in. I saw you and I tried to remember your name and I couldn’t.” She’s redder than the carpeting in the movie theater’s lounge. “But now I’ve got it!”</p><p>If she were in a better mood today, she would have found a way to write her name and number down on a piece of paper to make sure Trixie wouldn’t forget it again, but instead, she nods and searches her pockets for the other dollar bill she had taken from her purse. When she looks up again, she notices that a chocolate bar has been placed by her popcorn. “I didn’t order that.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“Why did you put it there, then?”</p><p>“Just take it. You’re having a bad day and all I’ve done so far is embarrass you.” Trixie shrugs. “You don’t have to pay for it. It’s a gift.” </p><p>Katya feels a genuine smile take her lips as she picks up the chocolate bar and looks at it fondly. She hasn’t had any chocolate since Brooke died. Denying herself the little pleasures of life is the easiest way she’s found of coping with a guilt that she’s trying to accept isn’t hers - or anyone else’s for that matter. She thanks Trixie and wanders into the screening room straight away, but doesn’t eat the chocolate, only places it in her pocket.</p><p>Maybe this is a sign she hadn’t even been looking for. </p><p>***</p><p><em> Dear Jodie </em> , Trixie drafts the email in her head, <em> today I saw a girl cry and for some reason now I think I have a crush on her. She looks pretty when she doesn’t cry too, but her vulnerability shook me a little because it goes against my first impression of her completely.  </em></p><p>No, too much. She saw a girl cry and now she has a crush? Yeah, sounds about healthy and normal. Ugh, she’s an idiot. </p><p><em> Dear Jodie </em> , she tries again, <em> I really want to talk about this girl, but I don’t know what to say. She’s cute? No, she’s hot. She’s cute and hot. Do I sound like a straight guy? Anyway, today she cried in front of me and I panicked a little, but then I made her smile so I guess it turned out okay. Unless she thinks I’m a creep now, which is definitely a possibility. Yours, Dolly.  </em></p><p>She can’t send that. For a second, Trixie regrets never having faked crushes over boys in seventh grade, it would have surely given her some practice on how to talk about a girl she knows nothing about except her name and that she has a tendency to cry in public. It’s easy enough for Trixie to sympathize with that, given that she cries in public all the time too because of her panic and anxiety attacks, and it makes her wonder what could have made a punk-rock looking girl like Katya act like that. </p><p>“Earth to Trixie?” She lifts her head. Shangela looks at her with both eyebrows raised and shakes her head. “Did you hear me?”</p><p>“No, sorry,” Trixie says. Shangie blinks at her. “Uh, homework. Physics. You know how I get when I start reading, don’t you?”</p><p>Shangie nods, but her expression doesn’t shift. “I was just saying,” she drags the <em> s </em> like a snake hiss, “that I’d cry around you more often if I knew that’d get me free chocolate.” </p><p>“It was about to expire anyway,” Trixie shrugs and hopes Shangela doesn’t notice her furrowed brow. “I know it’s coming off my salary, I don’t mind it.”</p><p>Shangie raises both hands, offering peace. “Okay, okay. It’s just that I’d never seen you be this nice to any customer here before.”</p><p>“Excuse me, I’m <em> very </em> nice to everyone! And also, you saw her.” Trixie shrugs. “I felt bad.”</p><p>“Yeah, I did too. It was kind of you to do that. I’m sure Katya appreciated it.”</p><p>Trixie nods and the room falls silent as Shangie picks her phone up. A sudden idea sparks in her mind. A stupid idea, but an idea nonetheless. She looks Shangela up and down as the girl thumbs through her phone. Trixie’s sure she’s laughing at cringy Facebook memes, or whatever it is that college dropouts laugh at, and she sees nothing but a harmless guinea pig, ready to take its testing. She’s gonna learn how to talk about crushes one way or another. </p><p>“Hey, Shange…” Trixie bats her eyelashes at her friend, who puts her phone down. “H-have you ever had a crush?” Two heartbeats of silence as Shangela puts on her thinking face. “I know it’s <em> totally unrelated </em>, but, you know…”</p><p>“Well, I’ve had many crushes. Shit, I have crushes all the time. Why do you ask?”</p><p>“Can you tell me a little about them?”</p><p>“Okay,” she smiles. “My most recent one is a boy from Madison that I found on Tinder. He’s pretty nice, really funny guy, and I think I’ll go out with him soon.”</p><p>“Madison is, like, two hours away from here,” Trixie comments.</p><p>“And have you ever met a good man in this town?” Shangie raises her eyebrows. </p><p>“Okay, you have a point.”</p><p>“Before that, I had this big, fat crush on a friend of mine from college, Alyssa.”</p><p>“Alyssa?” Trixie freezes. “That’s a girl's name.”</p><p>“It sure is,” Shangela laughs. “This one Tinder guy is funny, but I don’t think anyone can make me laugh like Alyssa did. She had this whole pageant girl, Miss Universe look but as soon as she opened her mouth she could make any single person laugh. And she was such a good person, she always wanted to make sure everyone was okay all of the time.” Her eyes are dreamy and she rests her chin on her hands. “She was definitely not the smartest person  academically speaking, but she was brilliant at sports, head of the campus cheerleading squad, and all.”</p><p>“What happened? Did it work out?” Trixie’s eyes widen and she focuses solely on Shangela’s voice and nothing else. </p><p>Shangela shakes her head and Trixie’s heart breaks a little. “It kinda did, then kinda didn’t.” She shrugs. “We kissed and she said she wasn’t sure that’s what she wanted, and I was okay with that. One week later, she showed up at my dorm, and, well, things happened.”</p><p>“Why is that bad?”</p><p>“Because I don’t think it meant the same thing for both of us. To me, it was a clear sign that something could come out of it, even if it wasn’t necessarily serious. To her, it was her experimenting phase before she decided to settle for boys only.” Shangie shrugs. “She got a boyfriend and all. Haven’t spoken to her since.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Trixie says. “It must suck.”</p><p>“It does suck, yeah. But I’ll be fine. There are a million more boys and girls out in the world, and I’m over it, to be honest. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck, though.” Shangie takes a deep breath and looks for Trixie’s eyes. “But why did you want to know that, anyway?”</p><p>Trixie suddenly remembers why she started the conversation in the first place and her thoughts fly around like disoriented birds. “What do you do when you have a crush on someone? Like, what should you do?” Shangie raises her eyebrows. “Asking for a friend.”</p><p>Shangie rolls her eyes. “Yeah, sure.” Trixie looks away from her eyes back down to her Physics book. “I mean, it depends. It can be scary when you’re a teenager because everything seems so serious, but try taking it slow and talking to them whenever you can. Texting is also good. I guess that could be difficult for you because of the whole anxiety thing, but I don’t really know what else to tell you.” Trixie’s shoulders lower in defeat. “I guess you can always give them a free chocolate bar if you run out of options.”</p><p>It takes her a second, but when she gets it, Shangie already has a shit-eating grin on her face. “No,” she waves both of her hands desperately. “You thought…? No. I’m not… I-I don’t… I… No.” A nervous chuckle escapes her lips and she tries not to think of the pools of sweat on the backs of her knees. “I don’t have a crush on her. Why would you think that?”</p><p>“Why would you think that?” Shangie mimics with an infantilized voice. “Girl, come on. If you could see your own face when you talk to her…”</p><p>“I’ve seen her <em> twice </em>, I can’t have a crush on her.”</p><p>“But you can think she’s cute…”</p><p>“I don’t think she’s cute. I don’t… You know. I don’t… girls. No.”</p><p>Shangie pouts. “Okay, sorry. No need to get defensive. All I’m saying is that it wouldn’t hurt to try and get her number. You don’t have to be so afraid of feeling things and living your life. Anxiety or no anxiety, I just don’t want you to feel like you’re missing out.”</p><p>So far, Shangie’s tone had been playful and fun and Trixie knew she was just trying to mess with her, but now it’s not the same. Now her friend’s expression is serious and her voice is softer, like she’s trying to convince Trixie of something. That’s when it starts feeling like too much. </p><p>“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” </p><p>They remain silent until the end of their shift. By the time Trixie gets home, her mom has left the porch light on for her but is already snoring in bed and Trixie tiptoes quietly up the stairs cursing Shangela for trying to give her life advice. <em> You don’t have to be so afraid of feeling things </em>, she had said. What an ass. What does she know, wasn’t she the college dropout? Even when she’s finally tucked in, staring at her ceiling in the dark, the words keep echoing inside her head and not letting her sleep. In an exhale of frustration, Trixie picks up her phone and unlocks it, the light forcing her to squint until her eyes get used to it. </p><p><em> Dear Jodie, </em> she writes. And writes, and writes, and writes.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I know that being gay isn’t shameful or bad or whatever, and though I appreciate your effort, like, for real, I really don’t give a shit about Jesus or God. It’s just that all of this couldn’t have come at a worse time. There’s already so much going on and I love talking to you and being able to be brutally, disgustingly honest with you, but the one person I want to share this with the most, the one person who would really be there for me in any and every situation isn’t here anymore. </p>
<p>It sucks because it always comes back to her, no matter what.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys!!<br/>Sorry it took me so long, but things have been a liiiiiiittle crazy over here hehe. First of all I want to say a big thank you to my favorite girls <a href="https://zamo-95.tumblr.com/">Zamo-95</a>, <a href="https://fedu31.tumblr.com/">Fedu31</a>, and <a href="https://katyasthwooorp.tumblr.com/">Katyasthwooorp</a> for helping me out with this chapter! Feel free to reach out to me on <a href="https://galaxybrunost505.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>!<br/>Hope you guys enjoy the chapter! Thank you for reading &lt;3</p>
<p>TW: BULLYING, HOMOPHOBIA, MENTION OF SUICIDE AND MENTION OF LIGHT SEXUAL ASSAULT. This is one of the sad ones!! If there are any more TWs I should add, please let me know in the comments!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>August 31st, 2015. Tuesday, 12:37 a.m.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: What should we name our club?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Jodie,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> you’re gay? Spoiler alert, if you’re wondering, you probably are, just saying. Also, I don’t really know what you mean by gay - is that lesbian or bisexual or queer or are you still not sure? It’s okay if that’s the case. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And I’m sorry for not answering right away. I got caught up in my head about some things, but I don’t really want to talk about it now. Let’s just enjoy homosexuality, please. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’ve known I like girls since I was around twelve or thirteen, I guess that’s a normal age to figure this kind of stuff out. I wish I could tell you I’m an expert in being a lesbian, but unfortunately, I haven’t had much room to get to know my sexuality better, which means my life is just me looking at girls and then crying. I mean, internally I’m ok. I only wish I had gotten to meet other gay people to whom I could have talked to and maybe have some ~experiences~with, not even sexual experiences, but just gay stuff. Basically what I’ve always wanted is someone to be gay with me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Actually, my work friend kind of came out as bi to me today? I was almost angry at how easy it was for her to just say “oh yeah and then I had a crush on [girl].” What the fuck?? I didn’t even know that was an option. All of the coming out videos I’ve seen on YouTube are so dramatic, people make such an event out of it. I had never realized I could just say “oh, yeah and I like girls, by the way.” Yes, I’m still annoyed at how simple she makes it all seem when clearly she’s wrong and everything about being LGBT must be at least 20% traumatizing, but I’d be lying if I said I’m not glad I have a real-life person around me who likes girls too. I’d invite her to be part of our club, but I think two is enough. And it’s not like I’m out to her or anything, not even close to that. She actually clocked a gay panic moment that I had today and tried to talk about it, but, hopefully, I’ve convinced her that she’s delusional and that I’m straight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I don’t know if I’m supposed to come out to her now that she’s out to me? Is this how it works? See, this is where my gay community would come in and help, they would know more about coming out etiquette than I do, and if Google tells me “you have to be comfortable, ready and safe” one more time I </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> snap. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, shit. Jodie, I just realized something. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I think you are the closest thing to a gay community that I have right now. I know that S is officially out to me, but I don’t have the same relationship with her as I have with you, plus I don’t think I’ll be coming out to her anytime soon. Okay, I guess our club really is coming together, then, huh? Good for us. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the other hand, this very same realization makes me think about the way you’ve put it, “I think I might be gay”. I don’t really know what’s behind that, but I think maybe we’ve had very different experiences regarding our sexualities. When I first realized that I liked girls, it wasn’t a debate as in am I or am I not attracted to them, it was more of a click. It was like suddenly things made sense. I realized then that I wasn’t broken and that there was nothing wrong with me, I was just trying to look in the wrong places. When I started googling “lesbian” it was like coming home. Well, actually it wasn’t because when you do that you find a lot of porn, but the articles I read were great. For the first time, I felt like I wasn’t trying to force myself into anything, that I was just existing and it felt good and freeing. I found my place, I found that my feelings were valid and had a name. It was never a question, but a statement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But that’s just me - I can’t tell you how you’re supposed to feel, but I want to tell you that if you’re confused, as your official gay community, it’s okay. You’ll figure it out sooner or later and when you do it’ll be the best feeling ever. Maybe you already know, but you’re still trying to navigate it and learn how to handle it yourself. I know that you go to catholic school and that makes me presume your parents are religious people, which can make things more difficult for you. Maybe they’ve all said things about gay people in general that they believe are true, but they will never understand what’s it like to live as a queer person, so they have no place to speak about it. There’s nothing wrong or dirty or even sinful about liking girls - I don’t personally believe in God, but thankfully I’m literate enough to be able to interpret and comprehend the Bible, and for that, I know that first and foremost, you must love thy fucking neighbor. And anyone who thinks they’re in the position to judge other people is trying to play God and that never ends well according to their own beliefs… Plus, didn’t Jesus use to walk among the thieves and the prostitutes? What makes people think he wouldn’t walk among the gays? And, if it makes a difference for you and you believe that God is the one who made you and put you here on Earth, doesn’t God make people in his own image? He knows what he’s doing and, apparently, he doesn’t make mistakes. You’re okay. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If you still need one more reason to be okay with your own gayness, weren’t you the one trying to piss off your parents? Why try so hard, you gay fuck? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not that being gay is anything to worry about or be ashamed of, because it isn’t at all. But, you know, it can be good to have a trick or two up your sleeve if that’s what you need. That absolutely does not mean you should come out if that’s not what you want right now, though. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m not out yet. I don’t think I’ll be out until after high school, at least. The only two people who know for sure that I’m not straight are you and my school nurse. She was actually the first person I’ve ever come out to, sorry to disappoint. My anxiety makes me believe that nobody will love me anymore if I tell them the truth, but it’s exhausting to live like this, always being careful and keeping things to myself because I’m afraid of anything that might make it obvious, even when it’s obvious just for me. Like, my mom is the sweetest person in the whole world, sweet like a puppy, but in my head, she’s going to kick me out the moment she finds out about it. The rational part of my brain knows that it’s not like that at all, but the bigger, smarter part of my brain keeps asking “but what if it is like that?” and I listen to it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, I hope you find this helpful and comforting. And if you turn out not to be gay, please disregard this entire email and pretend you don’t know anything about me being a lesbian. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yours, </span>
  <span>Dolly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>August 31st, 2015. Tuesday, 06:49 a.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: I really tried to think of something witty to write here but I’m not very good at thinking</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Dolly, </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s only Tuesday but I feel like this entire week has been a hundred-hour long nightmare. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I never thought I’d say this to anyone, but I’m really glad you’re a lesbian. And thanks for being my gay community. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a lot going on right now and my head is all over the place because I never actually talked about this with anyone before, I never even let myself think about it at all, so I swear I’m trying to say something, but I’m not sure how to do that. Maybe I should start from the beginning? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When I was in fifth or sixth grade and literally every single kid is an asshole, I was very interested in sports and also very good at them. Name any sport, I was the best in my class. At the same time, I was, unfortunately not very good at being girly and while most of my friends were thinking about their first kisses or reading the next book in the Fallen series, I was good watching cartoons and being obsessed with Lady Gaga. 2 + 2 = Jodie is a lesbian. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At first, it was harmless. They threw the d-word around a lot, but it was always playful. Then they started to try to pressure me into kissing boys, especially older boys, and I didn’t want to, but since men can’t take no for an answer, things started to escalate from there. Soon, it wasn’t just my friend group, it was the entire school. Whenever I entered the locker room after P.E. the girls all shouted and threw their stuff at me, calling me a perv and telling me not to look at them. My locker was vandalized so many times I lost count. Everyone made jokes about me in class, my friends stopped talking to me and I was never invited to any parties or even just to hang out, you know how it goes, there’s a million movies about bullying out there. It got worse when some older girls decided that I was possessed by a lesbian demon and that’s why I was the way I was (I wish I were fucking joking) and the way to help me was to beat the living shit out of me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One day my parents were called and I was suspended because the girls told the principal that I was being creepy and trying to force them to do sexual things, which I definitely did not do, but, of course, no one believes the perverted lesbian who doesn’t have Jesus in her heart. I’ll never forget my dad’s face. He was so angry and no matter what I said he didn’t believe me. I bet that to this day he still thinks I did the things those girls accused me of doing with no second-guessing. I was grounded for three months and we never brought this incident up again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thankfully, I had my sister. She was always the popular type, you know. That’s usually the part when you hear about how terrible the tall, blonde, skinny, straight bitch is, but Brooke was not like that at all - well, not to me at least. When literally every single person inside of our school was out to get me, she made it abundantly clear that whoever tried anything funny would have their entire life destroyed, and she stood by it. People respected her, they were terrified of her and what she could do to them. She took me under her wing when I needed it the most and she defended me against any and every threat. She got the girls who beat me up suspended for cheating on a test (whether they did cheat or not I can’t confirm) and any guy who tried to bully me got the worst kinds of reputation (Brooke accused one of them of kissing a sheep and he had to switch schools after that). I know that technically that is fighting fire with fire, but Brooke was a professional arsonist at that point and by the time high school came no one paid that much attention to my alleged gayness anymore. I mean, yeah, there were still a few rumors here and there, but people knew that fucking with me meant fucking with Brooke and nobody wanted that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I know I like girls. I think I’ve known for a while now, but admitting that means that they were right. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> the bad thing they’ve been calling me all these years, they win and all that Brooke has done for me, all that she’s defended me from, was for nothing because it was the truth all along. I’m not saying I deserved any of the things that people did to me, because I didn’t, but it’s different when looking at it from this perspective. They did all of that because they</span>
  <em>
    <span> thought </span>
  </em>
  <span>I was gay, what would they have done if they actually knew? I avoid thinking about this. I think I’m better off not knowing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thing is that as I’ve been growing, it’s been easier to deal with my feelings, or at least to keep them secret. I have good friends now, and Brooke was always there for me too, plus I also managed to make people believe that I’m some sort of intimidating and fearless motherfucker who is not afraid of consequences, which serves to both make people back off and to distract them from the other archetype that was previously attached to me. For a while, I thought it worked. Remember that boy I told you about, the one I kissed and it wasn’t a good time? The same one who used to bully the shit out of me when I was younger but turned out to be in my sister's social circle anyway?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yeah, so he was my first kiss. He waited until I was too drunk to say no, dragged me into a room and forced me to kiss him. My sister ended up walking in and stopping him, but turns out he had recorded the whole thing and captioned it “Jock tricks dyke into making out gone wrong”. Everyone at my school saw that video. For all I know, you might have seen that video. So yeah, even if I were straight, kissing him again wouldn’t be in my plans.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I know that now you might be thinking that my friends are assholes for even considering that I’d want to make out with him again, but I’m the one who convinced them it was okay back then, that I didn’t mind it, that I found it funny. I had to convince everyone, actually, because if I didn’t people would start with the whole d-word thing again and anything is better than that. It was around that time that I started going out to more parties and drinking a lot more and kissing boy after boy after boy to make it seem like I enjoyed all of it, but mostly to make people forget about the lesbian thing. If I kissed enough boys they’d see I was not a lesbian and they’d lay off me, but how many boys are enough? That was last year anyway. I don’t even remember who’s the last person that I kissed and I know it’s stupid, but I feel like I should. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’d like to live in a world where I kiss people because I want to and not because I feel like I have to. See, kissing boys is not that bad, especially after your third or fourth cup, but it never feels like anything. It’s just skin, tongue, and spit. It’s nothing. Whenever my sister would talk about the boys that she kissed she always described this waterfall of feelings and I’ve never felt that. Ever. It doesn’t sit right with me that I have kissed more than ten people without ever having my real first kiss. Now, please kill me because I can’t believe I’m that sappy. Shoot with no mercy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Do you know what the worst part is? That I never got to tell that to my sister. And I’m sure she would have had something nice and positive to say about it that would make me feel better instantly, but I’ll never hear it. I could really, really use Brooke right now. I know that being gay isn’t shameful or bad or whatever, and though I appreciate your effort, like, for real, I really don’t give a shit about Jesus or God. It’s just that all of this couldn’t have come at a worse time. There’s already so much going on and I love talking to you and being able to be brutally, disgustingly honest with you, but the one person I want to share this with the most, the one person who would really be there for me in any and every situation isn’t here anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It sucks because it always comes back to her, no matter what. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was a lot. Sorry. I’ll just stop here. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And thanks, as usual.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Love, Jodie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>August 31st, 2015. Tuesday, 09:22 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: Can’t think? It’s the gayness. It’ll eat all of your brain cells before you know it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Jodie, </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I really want to be happy for you, for finally kind of coming out, but I’d be lying if I said I don’t feel sad after all I’ve read. I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all of that, other people are shit. And I’m sorry your parents are assholes who didn’t stand by you when you needed them to, but I hope things are better now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m also glad your sister was there to help you through it, but you keep referring to her in past tense. Do you guys not speak anymore? You can tell me more about it if you want. Also, I’m very curious. (Please tell me). (But you don’t have to if you don’t feel comfortable doing that). (I totally understand). (But I’m still going to be curious). To be clear this was my attempt at joking through the awkwardness, which I’m pretty sure didn’t work. You don’t actually have to tell me anything at all about this, I think I can go the rest of my life not knowing it without bitching about it too much. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Do you mean your sister when you say the only person you wanna talk to about this isn’t here anymore? That you have to tell me, but you don’t need to elaborate. I tried not to feel offended by that, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>ouch</span>
  </em>
  <span> anyway. That was another joke. I swear I’m going to stop. What I’m trying to get to is that I understand you not wanting to talk about it that much or feeling like you have no one who you could talk to, both of these situations are the same to me, I can’t tell them apart. You did a pretty good job telling me all of those things, though, so I’d say maybe you’re starting to figure it out yourself. I don’t think it’s that uncommon that queer people don’t have someone to talk to about their queerness until they’re old enough to find these people. You’re just lucky you found me early enough, I guess. You’re welcome. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nobody has ever heard me say anything about being a lesbian, you were the first one to ever get to know it from me. When I think about telling my friends, I flinch a little - it’s not that I don’t trust them, but it feels unsafe, even if it's probably all in my head. I don’t want things to change, I don’t want them to see me in a different light, and, most importantly, I don’t want them to stop talking to me because of that. Well, now that I know S is bi, the chances of that happening are considerably low (but never zero), but I’m more unsure about D. She’s a little too unpredictable for my liking, so I don’t know how she’d react and my anxiety won’t let me settle for thinking she’d be fine with it. My brain tries really fucking hard to make me believe that people will hate me for being a lesbian and I fall for it every time. Things are good as they are now, so why risk it all and change them? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anyway, I hope that writing this email to me made you feel better. It definitely makes me smile to think that I’m not alone, but especially that you’re the one who’s with me on this. I don’t think I could ever thank you enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yours, </span>
  <span>Dolly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>September 1st, 2015. Wednesday, 10:57 a.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: Wake me up when September ends and all that bullshit</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Dolly, </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I think it’s time I tell you what my ~thing~ is. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My sister, Brooke, was probably my best friend. She was a straight-A student, a cheerleader, a ballet dancer and she was going to go to med school because she was also a mutherfucking overachiever. She had been prom queen at her last school dance, even if she wasn't a senior, and she had so many friends and always took me to the craziest parties. I have never loved anyone even half as much as I loved her, not even my parents.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is no need for sugar-coating here, so I’m just going to say it. Brooke killed herself this summer. That’s my ~thing~.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You don’t have to say you’re sorry - I know you are. Everyone is, everyone should be. It’s not fair that she’s gone like this, but no one can do anything about it. She’s gone forever, and she chose to be gone forever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m still having a hard time forgiving her for doing it and forgiving myself and my parents for letting it happen. After her death, I’ve become really unstable, especially at school, which no one understood very well since I had been mostly a rebellious spirit, as Mother Latrice would put it. Brooke being gone meant that above all no one would protect me anymore. I know I said I thought I didn’t need protection, but that’s only because I knew I had it no matter what. Now there’s no one there for me. Whenever I walk into my school now, I’m the dead girl’s sister, but it’s only a matter of time until I’m the dyke again. I don’t want that. I have no way to deal with that at all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Selfish is putting it lightly, but it’s what I feel right now. Guilt eats me alive every day, every time I step inside of that fucking school because I know it’s not right that out of everything this is what I’m worried about, but I am and I already waste too much time pretending not to be feeling things to let this go. I can’t. To be honest, I think my subconscious is trying to focus on this to ignore the fact that my sister is dead. I can’t believe I just typed that. I fucking hate it here. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel, but I can’t just get up every morning and live my life as if nothing happened, and I think that at this point that’s what people are expecting of me. It’s over for them. They went to her funeral and they were sad for a week or two, but now Brooke is just a memory for them. Well, it’s not over for me, it never will be. I don’t even know how to use words right now because I don’t think I fully understand what has happened. It doesn’t feel real. I still wait for her to come home every day. I keep quiet to make sure I’ll listen to her footsteps outside my bedroom. I haven’t eaten any of the things she labeled with her post-it notes that are in my fridge. I don’t want her to be a memory. I want her to be my sister and I want her to be here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nobody really knows why she did it. As far as anyone is aware, she had no reason to kill herself, yet here we are. Traumatized and guilty. I keep thinking that if I had paid a little more attention I’d know and maybe we weren’t as close as I thought we were. To think that she was keeping something from me that was bad enough to make her want to die… I don’t know. It could almost be funny because I have no right to complain about her keeping something from me considering that, you know. I’m gay and all. And I never told her. And I’ll never be able to do that now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe if I had told her she’d tell me what was going on with her. I like to think I would’ve been able to help, but who knows. Even if it means blaming myself, I guess I need a concrete reason for her to have done that. It can’t be nothing, it makes no sense. If I had a reason I think it would be easier to process, but I don’t know what killed her and I don’t think I ever will. I’ll keep wondering forever. Once again, I fucking hate it here. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My parents are having a hard time too, but they have a different way of showing it. My dad’s barely home these days and my mom cries a lot. The other day I saw Brooke’s bedroom door open and I know how silly it seems, but for a tiny fraction of time, I really thought she was back and that she was in her room and maybe it was all a dream. My heart was so full. It was so fast, but I swear I hadn’t felt that happy or relieved in such a long fucking time. Turns out it was just my mom that had gone into her room. I lashed out at her and now I realize that maybe I didn’t even care that much about her invading Brooke’s room, it was more that the whole moment kinda killed my fantasy of thinking my sister was back. I wish I could talk to them about it and ask them about it as well or be like my mom and just go sit in her room for a while, but I can’t bring myself to do any of those things. I’m not ready yet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The day I found out about her death was… intense. I remember so clearly that the moment I laid in bed that night, fully aware that I was not going to sleep, the first thought I had was that I will never experience the same kind of connection I had with her ever again. Not that anyone would ever take her place, it’s just that… Is there something beyond being sisters? Because that’s what we were. Kindred spirits and all that shit. I just… I know that I will never, ever feel what I felt with her ever again. I’ll never be able to talk to anyone the same way ever again. I lost her and I lost so much of myself too. I keep thinking of all the advice she’ll never give me and the secrets she won’t tell me and all of the moments that were ours and will never happen again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I don’t like this world in which Brooke has stopped existing, even if it’s still the same. My brain still has a lot to process. And no, I’m not okay and I don’t know when I’ll be because in my head things will only be fine when I see her in front of me again, but that's never gonna happen and I still don’t know what to do with this information. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This month would have been her birthday. I don’t know what to do with this information either.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Love, Jodie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>P.S.: It’s okay if you don’t know what to say. I wouldn’t know either. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>September 1st, 2015. Wednesday, 09:38 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: It feels inappropriate to joke right now so I’ll just leave a smiley face to lighten the mood: :) Oh look, it has a friend :D. Sorry. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Jodie,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well………… You’re kinda right, I don’t know what to say. I don’t think that there’s anything in the world right now that I can tell you that will make you feel better, so I guess it’s my turn to read/listen. You haven’t had the chance to talk about your sister’s loss yet, so go ahead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What I can offer you is a shoulder to cry on. I want you to know that you can literally tell me anything, whether it’s about your sister or about yourself or about your friends, it doesn’t matter. I’m here for you. I may not be able to solve your problems, but I can make bad jokes about them. If you need me, I’ll be there. Any time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I hope that you and your family will be able to take your time to heal. I’ve never lost anyone close to me, so I can only imagine what you all are going through. You said that thing about not being ready and I couldn’t help but wonder if you’ll ever be. I think, and you can completely ignore this if you feel like it’s disrespectful in any way, you don’t need readiness for this, because you’ll keep waiting for something that will never happen. You won’t wake up one day and then boom, suddenly you feel like confronting all of these things that haunt your dreams. You’ll just have to do it before it’s too late. I don’t think it’s supposed to feel good or right, because there is no good or right thing to do in a situation like this. It just has to be done. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I don’t want you to regret not sorting things out with your parents. I want you to be able not only to know that you can count on them, but also let them know that they can count on you. I think they might need you now, more than you realize. And I have a feeling you need them too. Please let yourselves be there for each other. That’s what family does, everyone takes care of everyone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Think about it. And I hope you’re okay now. It must be hard to bring this up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m sorry for your loss. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yours, Dolly</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>September 2nd, 2015. Thursday, 07:57 a.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: :) :D they have another friend ^-^</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Dolly,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I hope I haven’t made things awkward by spilling out about my sister like this. I don’t really know how you’re supposed to talk about dead people, I just typed whatever came up in my head without thinking too much about it because if I did think about it I wouldn’t have said anything at all. Thanks for reading all of it and, you know, being there. It means a lot to me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You’re right about my parents. I should talk to them, but I’m so scared. I’ve never been able to talk to them about anything before, I don’t know how much things have changed… And I know it might be just my anxiety fucking with me but I do have the impression that they are mad at me…? It won’t make sense to you, like, why would they be mad at me they just lost a daughter they probably have more important things to worry about, but that’s exactly it actually. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Out of the two of us, Brooke is the one that was supposed to work out. She was perfect and set to succeed, she’s every parent’s dream. God, she had everything. The perfect grades, the cheerleading, the ballet, the never getting in trouble, the going to church every Sunday… She was going to be a fucking doctor, probably a pediatrician or a cardiologist because that’s just what she does, she exceeds in anything you set her to. My mom and dad had the perfect trophy daughter and now they’re left with... Me. The leftovers. The one who only ever gives them headaches. I’d be pretty upset about it if I were them, so I can’t even blame them for being mad at me if they are. I can’t be Brooke, I could never come close to what she was and what she did. I’m the crooked sister. Well, now I’m the only sister, so there’s also that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wow, okay, that was too much. “I’m the only sister.” That’s not true at all. Or is it? I don’t know. I’m still struggling with denial I guess. I haven’t, ummmmm, </span>
  <em>
    <span>visited</span>
  </em>
  <span> her ever since the funeral. I can’t even imagine myself stepping into that fucking cemetery, it’s too much for me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One of the last conversations we had was on a Thursday night, like a real conversation. I’m talking middle of the night, zero filter conversation. Kind of what I have with you, I guess, but in real life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had snuck into my room and we both sat on the floor, resting our backs against my bed as we spoke. Now it occurs to me how similar that one conversation we had about the future was to this one. It was, what, maybe two or three in the morning, and I was still up trying to figure out my algebra homework and feeling like a dumb piece of shit because G had already gone to bed and wouldn’t be able to give me the answers. I think I might have slammed my head against my desk or something and Brooke heard, so she came to me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I don’t want to say that I cried because it takes a little from the illusion of my punk persona, but… But, well, I cried. I was sad and overwhelmed because I felt like even though I knew I had a lot to offer to the world, every time I had to do anything school-related I felt like a massive failure. I thought she’d be mad that I had woken her up, but she was just worried about me. She was never angry, never. Stressed and frustrated, yes, but never angry. Especially not at me. She had nothing but love and kindness to offer me and I don’t think I made the best of that while I could - and I don’t think I ever offered half of the same kindness back. It’s funny because that’s the thing about Brooke, now that I think about it. Even if I didn’t always treat her the same way as she treated me, even when I got defensive and even when I yelled at her, she didn’t mind that. She never minded that I didn’t give her the same treatment she gave me because she loved me enough to understand why I acted the way I did. Fuck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sorry. I got distracted. But, yeah, I was crying, feeling like the biggest failure in the whole world and she comforted me and told me that high school algebra will never be important in my life again, so it didn’t matter that I was bad at it. I told her that being good at school things is what would get me out of school and out of Leegreat Haven, so not doing well sometimes could be a little discouraging. I said that maybe I was meant to just stay here forever, stuck. Maybe my life wasn’t going to be the adventure I’d always wanted it to be, maybe my life wouldn’t even matter at all. Not like hers, at least. She was going to med school, she was going to save fucking lives. That matters. I could never offer anything that mattered like that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brooke told me to shut the fuck up. And said that I wasn’t dumb for not knowing algebra, but I was dumb for thinking that about myself. She told me that I couldn’t simply guess what my life was going to be like based on LH standards because LH standards are stupid. And then she said, and I quote “tell me, if you’ve only lived here did you really ever live at all?”. It kind of hit me then how much I was letting everything around me affect me, and I know she didn’t mean only school, she meant everything. Like, all of it. People calling me the d-word and our parents being assholes from time to time and me not really getting along with a lot of people and me trying to prove points by kissing boys I didn’t like… For a moment there I could really see how great my life could be if only I could get myself away from all these people. Of course I felt like I would never do anything that mattered, I know, like, three people from here, who would actually appreciate what I have to offer to the world. But then out of here there must be so many more bitches like me waiting for other bitches like me to relate to. It’s not that I don’t matter, it’s that I’m in the wrong place right now, more emotionally than physically, but my geographical location isn’t exactly perfect either. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m doing a quick pause just to say thanks for being a bitch like me. Just like Brooke, you also make me feel like I matter. Thanks for that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s just that… It was so good for me to have that one conversation with her, to have her rearrange my entire perspective in life. That same night she rambled and rambled about how soon she was gonna go to university and then get her own apartment and so I’d be able to visit her and then I’d see the real world, not just this shitty-ass town. She was so excited to move away and I was so happy she wanted to take me with her, let me into this new part of her life. I listened to her talk about all of the plans she had for next year until I saw the sunrise. And now I’m so afraid I’ll forget what her voice sounded like. I don’t believe I’ll never get to have another one of these conversations with her ever again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I could use one right now, you know, with the whole gay thing. I know that I have you, but it’s not the same.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Love, Jodie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>September 2nd, 2015. 04:39 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: It’s all fun and games until this creeper shows up (͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), now they’re all :/ D: and º-º</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Jodie, </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m sorry you haven’t been to her grave yet. I’m sure I could never understand the pain of losing a loved one, especially someone so close like Brooke was to you, but I understand the concept of not being ready to let go of the best things in your life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’d even go as far as saying that maybe accepting what has happened and letting go of this hurt that you have in you right now is not necessarily the same as moving on from her, which I’m guessing is what you’re trying to avoid. I don’t think you should move on from her. She’s your sister, her presence in your life won’t go away just like that, right? Also, I don’t really know how to put this into words, but living your life without Brooke doesn’t mean that you love her any less. It may sound stupid and painful, but I truly believe that. Going through her things and letting go of some of them doesn’t mean you don’t love her, not thinking about her every second of the day doesn’t mean you don’t love her either, etc. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And there’s something that really bothered me about your email and that is you referring to yourself as the “leftover” daughter? Quick question, what the fuck? You shouldn’t say that kind of thing about yourself :( I understand that you and your parents may have had some troubles in the past and will probably have more in the future, but I doubt they think of you like that at all, especially right now. They love you and I bet they’re worried about you, knowing how close you were to your sister. And just the idea that you feel like that in general unsettles me to an extent you can’t even imagine. Remember what your sister told you about not letting your environment define how you feel about yourself, even if it comes only from an impression that you have. I really wish you didn’t feel like this at all, and I know that saying that you shouldn’t feel this way doesn’t make it go away, but I don’t know what else to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I want to help you, but right now I don’t know how. If there’s anything at all that I could do for you please tell me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yours, Dolly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>September 2nd, 2015. Thursday, 10:55 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: If you hate it just ignore it</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I don’t want to hear a word about this. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Attachments: for_jodie.mp3 </span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Katya’s throat ties in a knot well before the tears start pouring out, but when they do, all of the heaviness in her body follows the stream and she cries it out. Half of it comes from missing Brooke and wishing she was here right now, so she could hug her and ask her how her day was or simply sit with her in silence for a while and make silly faces at each other periodically. The other half comes from knowing what singing means to Dolly and the disbelief of being important enough to be sung to, despite her fears and anxiety. She cries because while half of her is lost, the other half has just been found.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello!!<br/>Sorry it took me so long to post again, but chapter 8 is finally here! Thanks to <a href="https://zamo-95.tumblr.com/">Zamo-95</a>, <a href="https://fedu31.tumblr.com/">Fedu</a>, and <a href="https://katyasthwooorp.tumblr.com/">Katyasthwooorp</a> for the help as usual &lt;3 I'm still looking for one more beta, FYI hehe. You can always find me on <a href="https://highonbrunost.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a><br/>This one has just a small sad warning, I think you'll be fine! Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>September 2nd, 2015. Thursday, 11:30 p.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey. It’s me.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Katya can fully comprehend the situation, her finger flies over to the pause button, and she shrieks while throwing her phone all the way across her bed. “Shut up,” she whispers and then laughs, her nerves escaping through the gap between her teeth. “Shut the fuck up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she quits staring at her phone and recoiling in the corner of her queen-sized bed, she reaches closer to it with hesitant hands before pressing play again. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I used to think this song was originally by the Dixie Chicks, so I learned it, but, um, it isn’t. And you probably don’t care. That’s fine.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So Dolly does have a voice. Katya sometimes lets herself forget that she exists outside of their little email world. There is something about the way she speaks, though, and maybe it’s just because Katya’s so used to reading her words, but she can swear her voice has a tingle of familiarity to it that she can’t quite put a finger on. She didn’t even process what the girl said, she could hear her clear as day, but couldn’t make herself listen. It’s almost like she’s heard Dolly speak before, it’s like she already knew that this is what she’d sound like. She licks her lips with a furrowed brow as Dolly continues. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I hope you like it. I, uh, hope it makes you feel better</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” The delay in Katya’s mind catches up just in time for Dolly to start singing. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I took my love, and I took it down.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Oh, shit. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I climbed a mountain, and I turned around. And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills… Well, the landslide brought me dow</span>
  </em>
  <span>n.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All of the thoughts in Katya’s head disappear to give place to a billboard-ish </span>
  <em>
    <span>DollyissingingtomeDollyissingingtome</span>
  </em>
  <span> in blinding neon lights that occupy her entire brain for a moment before she is drawn back to the song, this time paying close attention to the lyrics. She knows Dolly doesn’t sing in front of people, so whatever this is, it must mean something. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love? Can the child within my heart rise above? Can I sail through the changing ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”. Dolly hums almost as quietly as her guitar chords vibrate. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Well, I’ve been afraid of changing ‘cause I built my life around you… But time makes you bolder, children get older and I’m getting older too.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” On the other side of the phone, Dolly sighs. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Well, I’m getting older too.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya’s throat ties in a knot well before the tears start pouring out, but when they do, all of the heaviness in her body follows the stream and she cries it out. Half of it comes from missing Brooke and wishing she was here right now, so she could hug her and ask her how her day was or simply sit with her in silence for a while and make silly faces at each other periodically. The other half comes from knowing what singing means to Dolly and the disbelief of being important enough to be sung to, despite her fears and anxiety. She cries because while half of her is lost, the other half has just been found. And it’s too much.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Well, I’ve been afraid of changing, ‘cause I built my life around you</span>
  </em>
  <span>”, Dolly’s voice echoes through Katya’s room, which now feels so empty even though it’s cluttered all the way to the ceiling. Whoever wrote those lyrics is more than welcome to fuck off. Almost instinctively, Katya gets up out of bed and walks towards the picture frame on her dresser that has been facing down for a few months and picks it up with both hands, holding it close to her chest before even looking at it, she doesn’t have to. The image is already burned in the back of her mind. It’s her and Brooke at ages seven and eight, dressed up for Halloween. Brooke was a zombie cheerleader, and Katya was some kind of corn cat. What? She loved cats </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> corn, why couldn’t she be both? That year, they ate so much candy that both of them had food poisoning. It was probably one of the most evident times in which Brooke was far from perfect, and those times were rare, so Katya rejoiced in that memory. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hugs the photo through the song, and when it finishes, she stands still, holding the frame so tightly her knuckles turn white. It may have all been inside of Katya’s head, but she’s sure she could smell her sister’s perfume while she heard Dolly sing. Her eyes lose focus and she has to blink them back into seeing what’s in front of her. Does she remember what Brooke’s perfume was like? She feels like she should. She wants to, at least, but there is only one way to be sure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya puts the picture back on the dresser, this time facing up. She knows that if she thinks too much about it she won’t do it, so she welcomes in an inhale of courage and two hops to make herself feel real again, but it doesn’t work. Normally, her intention would be to take light steps into the wooden floor of the hallway, but tonight she doesn’t care if she’s marching, stomping, or dancing her way out of her bedroom, she doesn’t even feel her bare feet touch the ground. When her hand reaches the doorknob and feels how cold the metal is, she forces herself not to hold it too tightly and to let it go as soon as she can. If she lingers, her 20 seconds of insanity might slip right through her fingers and she doesn’t know when in hell she’ll have another boost like this again. She can’t take a chance and let this go. It goes against everything that she’s been piling up inside of herself for the past few months.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brooke’s bedroom is warmer than the hallway is and the change of temperature, even if slight, makes Katya twist her hair and pull it to the side to get it off the back of her neck. When she switches the light on and gets to see the room just as her sister had left it for them to find, her tears turn to waterfalls and her weeps turn to sobs. Her bed is made, with a thousand pillows and cushions collecting dust on top of it. Katya remembers how she loved having sleepovers in Brooke’s bedroom because she always had a million things she could hug. Her school bag is on top of her desk and her closet door is halfway open, almost as if it’s asking Katya to go peek inside. It’s all there, exactly where everything is supposed to be, except for Brooke. Right now, Katya imagines that she would probably be lying on her bed doing a video call with Shea and Blair to talk about whatever it is that pretty and popular girls talk about. It almost makes her laugh to imagine her sister making fun of Chad, Matt, and Brad or telling yet another anecdote from cheer practice, maybe even complaining about homework. She finally takes another step into the carpeted room, towards her sister’s vanity. She can see her favorite bottle of perfume there, and she doesn’t even have to spray it - the soft floral scent is already settled all around the vanity, and it reaches Katya with a blow before she can even register or get close enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her knees hit the ground first after her legs give out. She watches the room spin around her through blurry vision as all of the memories that live there throw themselves at her face, trying to make her swallow them down, but she won’t. In an attempt to stand up, Katya learns that she can’t move her limbs and starts having difficulty breathing upon that realization. She knew that coming into Brooke’s bedroom would bring up this kind of reaction, yet, for some reason, she thought she could face it. This is the last thing she needs right now, but the twinge in her chest doesn’t allow her to be angry. She tries to gasp for air, but her nose won’t take in any air and the only thing she can make out in the middle of all this mess is Brooke’s perfume, almost solid in the air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya doesn’t know how much time has passed before she feels a hand on her shoulder and then a pair of arms embracing her strongly from behind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shhh, </span>
  <span>малышка, it’s okay. I got you,” her mother whispers, kissing the top of her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t breathe,” Katya cries out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Try with me when I count okay?” Katya nods. “Take it in, one, two three… Good job, малышка, hold it for a bit. I’ll count to three again and then you can let go. One, two, three… Let it out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It takes them a few rounds before Katya is able to breathe almost normally again, but her brain is still running at a million miles per hour and her heart is still shattered in a million little pieces. She is finally able to lift her arms up to her face and wipe away her tears. As much as she tries to move her legs, she feels her bones break under her and the apologies she tries to mouth come out as unintelligible mumbles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Irina reassures her. “You’re okay, my малышка.” Her hand rubs up and down Katya’s back, leaving a trail of warmth behind it. Katya’s eyes feel electric and she only realizes she has leaned into her mother’s touch when she wonders how she hasn’t lost all of her balance yet. “Cry. It’s good to cry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So she does. Between loud sobs and warm tears she manages to sneak a few words like “sorry” and “I shouldn’t be here” and “I miss her”, to which her mom always replies with “it’s fine”, “don’t worry” and “me too”, always keeping her voice soft and malleable like a lullaby. Katya feels like a child who just woke up from a nightmare, but is still painfully aware that the nightmare never really ended. It’s actually just begun. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>September 3rd, 2015. Friday, 07:10 a.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As much as Katya would like to pretend that last night never happened, no one in her house is doing a spectacular job at it, which is making it pretty much impossible. She loosens her collar when her father asks her if she needs a ride to school for the third time in the last half hour. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s fine, Gigi will be here soon,” she repeats once again. Her mom isn’t sitting down with them to eat breakfast, but instead she’s packing Katya’a lunch and some snacks, which is, at least, weird. “I don’t think I can eat all of that,” she points out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Irina continues humming, almost as if she didn’t hear her daughter. “You can share it with Gigi and Monét, they’ll eat it. Gigi </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> eat it, she’s too skinny, she needs some meat on those bones.” Katya rolls her eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s rude, but whatever.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The humming resumes and George, Katya’s father, tries his best not to look apprehensive, but he keeps sneaking glances at Katya from behind the newspaper. She pretends not to notice to spare him some dignity, but she’s just as uncomfortable. Breaking down and crying in her mother’s arms after barely exchanging a word with her for months wasn’t exactly her coolest or toughest or punkest move, but now it’s done.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s that same feeling of when she drinks a little more than she should and ends up saying too much to people, or crying, or letting a guy touch her under her shirt and wakes up the next day filled with dread, regret, and a headache. She knows the headache today is likely from dehydration after she cried for an entire hour, but to know that she has let her shell crack in front of her parents is unbearingly embarrassing. She had enough time to run back to her bedroom after her little scene was over and write a tear-stained email back to Dolly thanking her for the song and telling her what happened after she heard it. Dolly responded right away, close to one in the morning, telling her she was happy she liked the song and that she never imagined she would ever sing to anyone like this, but also that Katya should think about what she had said earlier, the whole thing about her parents needing her as much as she needs them right now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And the bitch was fucking right. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lets her thoughts simmer for a while in her mouth before speaking, and, in honor of Dolly’s advice, she doesn’t wait until she’s ready to let the words out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think we should go over Brooke’s stuff.” Silence. Her father puts the newspaper down and her mother turns to her with wide eyes. Katya swallows. “We need to decide what we should keep and what we should donate.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yekaterina, I… I thought you didn’t want that,” her mother approaches the kitchen table. Her father simply looks from his wife to his daughter, lip trembling in a search for words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t,” Katya clarifies, “but I have to. I think we all have to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ok,” her dad finally says. “When do you want to do it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was thinking today, when we all get home. We should do it together.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think that’s a beautiful idea, Kat,” her mom says, batting the mistiness in her eyes away with her eyelashes. “Why did you change your mind so suddenly? Did anything happen?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya doesn’t answer right away. “A, uh, friend helped me,” she confesses, earning strange looks from both of her parents. “She said that if I keep waiting until I’m ready I’m never gonna do it and she’s right. I will never be ready to… I don’t even know what I’m not ready for. Moving on, letting go, I don’t know. I don’t think this hole in my chest will ever go away or stop hurting, but not doing anything about it will not make it better either.” Irina wipes her tears away with the tips of her fingers and George reaches out to hold his wife’s hand. “Brooke is gone. For good. And now we have to get used to that and live with it, whatever that means.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before she can regret opening her mouth and saying all of those things that had been stuck in her throat for longer than she realized, a honk goes off right in front of their house. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gigi’s here,” Katya grabs her backpack and runs to the front door, leaving behind half of her breakfast, but her mother runs after her with the food she was packing so she won’t forget it. In the car, she greets Gigi and Monét and scoots over to her corner in the backseat, with her phone already in her hands. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Dolly, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she types, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’ll never believe what I just did.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie tries her best not to smile at her phone during lunch, reading about how Jodie talked to her parents that morning and how good it felt for her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she first read what had happened to her that summer, she didn’t know what to do. What do you say to a person in a situation like this when you don’t even speak in general? Trixie was happy to remember Nurse Asia’s advice from when she came out, though. At least that felt pretty fitting in the situation. Of course Jodie’s case was more serious as she was having trouble to let go of her sister, a person,  while Trixie was still trying to hold on to an image of herself that doesn’t even exist. Reading Jodie’s email was a huge reality check for her to realize that there are worse things in the world and that nothing actually bad has happened to her yet. It should have been calming for her to think that the worst thing of her life hadn’t happened yet, but it was mostly unsettling. It means it could happen at any time, anywhere, and she had no idea of what it could be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She also struggles to understand why in hell she decided to sing to Jodie. The very idea of singing in front of someone is enough to make Trixie sick to her stomach, but singing to her felt like being on a cloud. Now that she knows that the song triggered Jodie into going into her sister’s bedroom for the first time since she passed away and also made her speak up to her parents about starting to clean it out, there is a small ray of pride forming inside of her heart. Who knew helping Jodie would have made her smile like an idiot while eating her disgraceful public school lunch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie hears Dela’s voice, but doesn’t listen to what she says. “Huh?” She looks up from her phone, still smiling. Dela has one of her eyebrows arched so high it almost reaches her hairline, licking her front teeth with her mouth closed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I asked who are you texting? I’ve never seen you smile at your phone like that.” Trixie immediately drops the smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now Dela’s second eyebrow rises. “Oh, I get it. It’s a secret.” Trixie huffs at her, locking her phone and setting it on the table next to her tray. The smile she was sporting is now officially dead. “I’m going to assume that either a lucky boy has finally done enough to deserve your attention or you’re reading some spicy Star Trek fanfiction.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s nothing, really. I don’t wanna talk about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, Miss Congeniality, whatever…” Trixie’s heart stings. There is a voice inside of her telling her to spill it out to Dela and think about it later, but it’s too much of a risk. She’s put up a wall to protect Dolly and Jodie’s world from the real world and she’s not ready to tear that wall down yet. As much as she loves Dela, right now she might love Jodie more - or, at least, she loves what she has with Jodie more, whatever that is. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unfortunately, Trixie thinks she was right when she thought she was going to ruin everything by developing feelings for Jodie. Last night, as she strummed her guitar to the chords of Landslide, she had to keep herself from smiling from thinking of Jodie’s reaction listening to it. The moment she realized that she actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jodie to hear her sing, she let out an audible “fuck”. When she pressed the send button, her heart was beating to the speed of light and her mind was catching up to it in no time. Of course instead of lying in bed and thinking about it, trying to solve the puzzle in her head and see where everything fit, she forced herself to sleep by taking half an extra pill before going to bed. She can’t afford this kind of thought right now, the only thing she wants is to enjoy her moment with Jodie while it lasts and she won’t let any feelings that she may or may not have get in the way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are we still up for tonight?” Dela asks, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “We haven’t hung out in a while.” She shrugs. “I miss you,” she plays with the chipped black nail polish on her fingers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie nods, attempting a smile. “Sure. You can come to my place after I’m done with work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cool. I forced my brother to buy us some Malibu,” her eyebrows hop up and down. “It’s gonna be a lot of fun and I promise I won’t force you to watch any horror movies this time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a moment, Trixie lets herself loosen up. She can see in Dela’s eyes how much she wants Trixie to be as excited as she is, how much she wants them to just hang out with no drama, no panic attacks and no stares from across the classroom. Just them, together in their little bubble of laughter, bad alcohol, and best-friendness. Smiling back at her friend, she nods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t wait!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>September 3rd, 2015. Friday 08:55 p.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Turns out she could wait. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After the initial rush of people arriving at The Screen Queen and swerving between Shangie’s ticket booth and Trixie’s concession stand, the loud conversations and the smell of sweat wore off as the customers entered the screening room and left the girls alone to enjoy each other’s company. For a while, the only noise they could hear were the sound effects and they had never been so relaxing. Trixie hates having a full house. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The number of people she forced herself to talk to was way above her daily limit of interaction and she held back a yawn, feeling the weight of her eyelids. Even Shangie understood that it had been a couple of intense minutes for her, so she sat on her spot, thumbing through her phone and occasionally letting out a timid giggle. Sometimes Trixie forgets that Shangela is actually a really good and understanding friend who doesn’t overstep when she’s not supposed to, and it was that exact thought that reminded her of Dela.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie immediately takes her phone out of her pocket and unlocks it straight into her messages. As much as she wants to see her friend and have a good time with her, which she knows will bring some sweet comfort for both of them, she has been watching the clock that’s hung on the wall, right beside Shangie’s booth, waiting for her shift to be over so she can go home and sleep and finally end this day. With a groan, she starts typing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>To: Dela the goth</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i don’t think i can make it tonight :( im exhausted</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>To: Dela the goth</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>do u mind if we hang out tomorrow? i rly need to rest</b>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>To: trix</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>aww, no :( tough day at work?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>To: trix</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>it’s ok!! we can totally do it tomorrow!</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>To: Dela the goth</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>thanks for understanding, i’m sorry</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>To: Dela the goth</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i know u were very excited for tonight :/</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>To: trix</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i can wait one more day!! take care of urself &lt;3</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>To: Dela the goth</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>&lt;3</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie sighs. The weight of guilt on her chest doesn’t let her breathe very well, but she knows it would be worse to push herself through it and then barely talk to Dela. Understanding and accepting her limits, especially when it comes to socializing, which seems inevitable at some points, is never the easiest part. She thinks about how free she would be if she didn’t tire of people so quickly, if she could talk to others like they talk among themselves, or if she could at least pretend to do so. Lowering her head, she closes her eyes. As exhausting as today has been, nothing is ever as exhausting as living inside of her own brain and having to be there, having to be her, all the time. At least when she gets tired of other people, she gets to take a break from them, but there is no way to take a break from herself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her phone buzzes and she grunts, sure it’s Dela replying to her, but when she looks at the screen, her heart skips a beat. The Gmail icon is there, waiting to be clicked on and opened and Trixie almost smiles. A rush of energy runs through her body and she takes the phone in her hands, biting her lips in an attempt to hold back a squeal. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>September 4th, 2015. Saturday, 02:11 a.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She stays up until two emailing Jodie back and forth. By the time she falls asleep, Trixie has already forgotten how tired she was.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>September 4th, 2015. Saturday, 11:47 p.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie has had three cups of poorly mixed rum and coke when she starts laughing at the ceiling. Dela hasn’t had much to drink yet, busy trying to paint her nails black as they let their favorite playlist fill their brains in the background. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I like him for real,” Dela confesses after a brief moment of silence. She’d been spilling all of her guts about a boy whose name Trixie might not remember right now, but it could be a Liam, a Logan or a Lucas. She barely heard any of it, distracted by the swirling of the ceiling she’s still staring at, laid flat on her living room carpet, but turns to face Dela anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that a good thing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dela shrugs, a smile creeping up on her lips. Trixie is still not used to seeing her without her trademark black lipstick on, which makes the gesture a lot more intimate to her. She lifts herself up off the floor and leans her back against the couch, looking for her cup. “It might not be right now,” Dela says, “but it could be later. Maybe even the opposite. I’m still trying to figure it out, you know?’”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie lets out a quiet giggle. “Yeah, I know.” She’s happy her friend finds the idea of later exciting and comforting, but to her, it’s always terrifying. She pushes away a thought of Jodie, but it persists, mocking her. The idea of what later will look like for them is swirlier than the ceiling and wobblier than her words. “I think it’s gonna work out fine,” she tells Dela. She’s not sure if she’s talking about Liam/Logan/Lucas or Jodie, but it works for both. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hope it does, Trix… Boys are exhausting. You’re lucky you’re immune to them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie’s heart tries to escape through her mouth and her eyes widen. “H-... What do you mean,” she says, and it doesn’t sound like a question. She pushes her hair out of her face and tucks it behind her ear with a half-hearted smile on, trying to play it as cool as possible. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s just that you never have any crushes,” Dela laughs after furrowing her brow. “Lucky you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She exhales, feeling her insides get back into place from where they had melted at the scare. “Lucky me,” she coos, taking a big gulp from her cup. “Do you, uh, want to do any homework?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dela rolls her eyes. “I know that’s your favorite sleepover hobby, but I didn’t bring any of my stuff for a reason, miss thing. You need to chill out, don’t you think?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie’s cheeks grow red. “You didn’t have to call me out like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course I did, I’m your best friend.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t want to tell you you’re right… But you’re right,” Trixie laughs and Dela joins her, but as soon as their giggles die down, Dela puts her hand over Trixie’s. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks up at her friend’s eyes, watching her smile fade slowly as she clears her throat. “I, uh… I actually wanna talk to you about something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, that can’t be good. Trixie reaches for her cup one more time and downs the rest of her drink, frowning at the bitter taste of rum. “Go ahead.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m worried about you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Fuck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You had that panic attack for absolutely no reason the other day and you’ve been flaking on me a lot lately.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought you didn’t mind that I was tired yesterday,” Trixie grumps. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t! I swear I didn’t… But I mind that you’re not as close to me as you were before. Not to mention how you’ve become addicted to your phone,” Dela takes Trixie’s hand between both of hers. “I just wanna know what’s going on with you. I know how your head gets sometimes, I don’t want you to think you have to go through things alone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie pulls her hand away. “I’m fine, you don’t have to be that dramatic.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dela inches back, as if Trixie’s words have actually smacked her in the face. “Okay, I don’t know what’s up with you but clearly there is something going on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you insisting on that? There’s nothing going on!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then why are you being such a bitch to me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh. Trixie’s mouth opens and closes. Dela is right, which is exactly why she can’t crack and let anything out now. “I-I’m not being a bitch! You’re just being too pushy, stop trying so hard to find something wrong. I’m fine!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pushy? You think I’m being pushy?” Dela covers her eyes with her hands and breathes out slowly. “I had to drag you to the nurse’s office when you could barely walk just the other day, you keep your nose buried in your phone all the fucking time and, even if you think I didn’t notice, I know you’ve been avoiding me. Just because you’re the smart one, it doesn’t mean I’m dumb, Trixie. If you don’t want to tell me you don’t have to, that’s fine, but you have no right to be an asshole to me without a good reason. I’m not going to go home and cry myself to sleep thinking about what I did wrong for you to treat me like this because I know that I’ve been nothing but a great friend to you. What a way to show you’re thankful for that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dela, no - it’s not…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I dedicate way too much of my time to you, to make sure you’re alright. I care about you, Trixie, I love you!” Dela sighs. “But right now I don’t feel loved back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop that… I do love you, I just…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s his name?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie stops, losing her train of thought. “Whose name?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The boy I like. What’s his name?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you trying to test me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re good at tests, you ace all of them, even in your bad days. It’s not a difficult question. I’ve talked about him for almost an hour now.” Dela shrugs. “What’s his name?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Liam.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Logan?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dela shakes her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh… Lucas?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t listen to a word I said, did you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-I did, I did, I was just distracted!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“By what? By the little person who lives inside your phone? By this nothing that you keep telling me doesn’t matter?” Dela sighs, standing up. Trixie follows her actions. “I really don’t understand what’s going on with you, but now you’re only coming off as inconsiderate. I never thought this was going to be a one-way friendship, but right now you’re painting me as more of an idiot than any boy I’ve ever liked before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something inside of Trixie’s heart gets knocked off a shelf and shatters on the floor, boiling her blood. “Well, I’m sorry you feel bad, but I still don’t get why you’re making such a big deal out of this. I’m sorry that I’m a little off and wasn’t paying attention to your little crush talk, I’m sorry that I need some time for myself, but, fuck, it’s nothing. It doesn’t matter, why can’t you just act like a normal person? Let it fucking go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dela searches for her bag and car keys as Trixie stands there, cold sweat staining her shirt under her breasts. “Well, you can shove all this time you need for yourself right up your ass, yeah? You know this is not what this is about. I can’t force you to want to be my friend, but I can remove myself from situations where I’m clearly inconvenient.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dela, no…” Trixie tries as Dela makes her way to the door, bag hanging from an arm and keys tingling together as she walks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, Trixie. You want some time for yourself? You have it. Enjoy it,” Dela turns to her. “Text me when you’re done pushing people away for fun.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door slams hard enough that Trixie feels the house shake around her. She stands there, alone, until she stops trying to convince herself it was a bad dream. Her phone dings with her favorite notification, but she doesn’t hear it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She fucked up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J4_wXPZ1Bnk">This</a> is the version of the song that Trixie sings! The group used to be called Dixie Chicks, but they've recently changed their name to The Chicks. If you've never heard of them, are you really gay? Hm. Just kiddiiing &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Not that you’re a stranger, that you’re definitely not. I have a feeling I know you better than anyone else in your life knows you right now, that you always come to me with all of you, and I like that. I’ve never seen your face, but at the same time, you’re the furthest thing away from a stranger that anyone could be. Sometimes that scares me, but I think it’s part of the process. I like knowing all of you. It’s fascinating. You’re fascinating.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello hello hello welcome to another day in the workroom<br/>Ew, okay, sorry<br/>Am I actually managing to post within a week?? what kind of sorcery is this??? Hahahahahaha. Thank you guys so much for the love you've left in the last chapter! It always makes my day to read your comments! And thank you to my dynamos <a href="http://zamo-95.tumblr.com/">Zamo-95</a>, <a href="http://fedu31.tumblr.com/">Fedu</a>, and <a href="https://katyasthwooorp.tumblr.com/">Katyasthwooorp</a> for helping me out with this chapter!! I'm so lucky to have you with me in this journey! <br/>I hope you guys enjoy reading this chapter and thank you so much for being here!<br/>You can always find me on <a href="http://galaxybrunost505.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>September 5th, 2015. Sunday, 12:03 a.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: I fucked up</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Jodie,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I think I’m a bad person. No, okay, not a bad person, but definitely a terrible friend. Do you know what else I am? Drunk. So bear with me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>D just left. We were supposed to have a sleepover. It would have been the first in, like, a million years, but I fucked up, and now I’m here, sitting on my living room floor by myself. We had never fought or had an argument before, so I don’t know if all of the things I’m feeling right now are just the shock of the impact of having a fight with her for the first time ever or if it was a really bad fight. It might be both. I suck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The worst part is that she’s right about every single thing she told me. I know I’m in the wrong, but I’m also too much of a pussy to admit it. I know it’s the right thing to do, but that implies in telling the truth, and my brain… I don’t think I can do that. Not yet, at least. I would seriously consider moving to Siberia before having to say anything to D.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh. Funny how maybe that’s part of what makes me a shit friend. I’m pretty sure that one of the most important parts of friendship is to trust your friend, to find comfort in them, and know they won’t judge you, no matter what. I know deep in my bones that if I asked D to help me hide a body, Goodbye Earl style, she would. She already does that every other day when I have my fits at school and need someone to clean up after me. UGHHHHHHHHH. I’m an asshole. I don’t deserve D or any of what she does for me, and she does a lot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Basically, I’d been flaking on her for a while. I was tired and busy, going back to school really took its toll on me and I had absolutely no leftover energy. Especially now that I’m talking to you - I don’t want you to feel bad about this, but talking to you sometimes tires me out because you reach a few parts of me I’m not too keen on exploring and going there, bringing that up, that fucking sucks. I always feel amazing after, and that’s more on me than it is on you, but I also have to make sure not a soul will know of your existence, which is also a little tiring. Again, that’s on me, not on you. Oh, not to mention that I have a social interaction limit, and now that I talk to you so often……… Yeah, other people miss their spots sometimes. I don’t mind that, though. I like talking to you because I know all of the uncomfortable feelings that I get mean that it’s working. You really do help me see things from a new perspective and face my own demons or whatever, and as exhausting as that is, to know you’re there in the end, and the way that I feel… It’s worth it. Every second. Thanks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anyway, not the point. What I’m trying to say is that D and I have been kinda drifting apart… Well, no, I’m the one who’s been keeping my distance, to be honest. Last night she was telling me about the guy she likes, and even though she rambled for what felt like hours I didn’t catch his name. I wasn’t even trying. She confronted me about how I’ve been acting weird, canceling on her, barely even talking, being snappy, never letting go of my phone, and about how I had a panic attack out of the blue the other day and didn’t want to tell her about it even though she’s the one who helped me through it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s right. I have been doing all of those things, and as easy as it would be to blame it on you, I’ve been enough of an asshole for now. D has nothing to do with the fact that I have a secret, it literally should not affect her, but it does, because the way I’m dealing with it makes it so that she gets the worst out of all of this. I mean, I actually have two secrets. One of them is that I like girls and the other is you. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Does that offend you? I’m not embarrassed of you, it's just… I’m already a weirdo, I don’t want to be the weirdo with an anonymous friend. For all I know you could be a forty-year-old man with a neckbeard who only wears Hawaiian shirts, so spare me the trauma of having to share that with the world. The idea of word getting around about this and people looking at me like “oh, look at that poor thing who has to rely on a stranger on the internet because she can’t even talk to her own friends” sends chills down my spine. Not that you’re a stranger, that you’re definitely not. I have a feeling I know you better than anyone else in your life knows you right now, that you always come to me with all of you, and I like that. I’ve never seen your face, but at the same time, you’re the furthest thing away from a stranger that anyone could be. Sometimes that scares me, but I think it’s part of the process. I like knowing all of you. It’s fascinating. You’re fascinating. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Also… I don’t know. What we have here is too precious. I don’t want it to be ruined by the outside world. You’re always the best part of my day. You exist in some sort of alternative universe where it’s just you and I, Jodie. I wish I could live here forever, but I can’t. I don’t want the rest of the world to ruin what we have here, since it already took so much from us. Not only what we have is precious, but you are too. Every time I get to talk to you, I can’t stop myself from thinking about how lucky I am, mostly to have met you. You’re the most remarkable and spectacular forty-year-old man I’ve ever gotten to know. I will never not be thankful for that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will it ever be possible that I go two minutes without thinking or talking about you? Jesus fucking Christ, that’s exactly why I’m a bad friend. I’m so devoted to my own small universe that I completely forgot I’m still a part of D’s universe and that she’s a part of mine. It’s unfair. I failed as a friend. I hope I can find the words to ask D to forgive me, but I’m so afraid of what that could bring. She’ll ask too many questions and I think I’ve lied enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ask the nuns at your school to say a prayer for me, please? Thank you.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yours, Dolly.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>September 5th, 2015. Sunday, 02:00 a.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: I’m drunk too so maybe I should wait until tomorrow but also let’s see how chaotic this can get</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dearest loveliest Dolly,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m drinking alone in my room again, oopsie-daisy. That’s bad. We both suck. Actually no, we don’t. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I think I might pass out soon, though, so if this email makes its way to you being only half-finished, you know why. Aaaaaand you don’t have to worry, you’re my dirty little secret too. I don’t know if my friends would understand me having a random friend on the internet to whom I </span>
  <span>tell all of the things I should be telling them soo……………. But it’s fine. I like this little world in which we live. All I see is Dolly and Jodie and Jodie and Dolly and I’m happy, you make me very happy. I don’t know how my friends would take it if I told them that there is someone in this world who I trust more than them, who I want to talk to more than them. Want is not a very good word - it’s stronger than that, it’s a longing, a yearning that never goes away, not even when I already have your words under my eyes. I know that you have all of me, and even though I feel like I also have all of you, it doesn’t seem to be enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I get very touchy-feely when I drink - ask any boy in this town, they’ll know - and I kinda wish I could touch you right now. Like, hug you or something, just to know you’re real and that you exist outside of my head. That would be nice. Is it creepy to say I think you probably have soft skin that smells really good? Do I sound like a vampire? I’m totally not a vampire *sweating nervously*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m getting off the rails here. To make it easy: you did fuck up. And you should apologize as soon as you can. I know you didn’t have any bad intentions, but that doesn’t stop people from getting hurt, and your friendship with D is more important than any kind of pride you have. Trust me, I lost the person who was to me what D is to you, and you need her in your life. You’re lucky to have her, so don’t let her get away. Maybe let her cool off a little bit and apologize. Bake a fucking cake, make her a playlist on Spotify spelling out an apology. Just make sure you don’t let her go, you’ll regret it until the day you die. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I want you to think a little bit about what you’re telling me… You say that you’re afraid of having to tell her the truth, that you’re not ready for it, and fuck, I</span>
  <em>
    <span> get </span>
  </em>
  <span>it. I do. What I don’t get is how stupid you have to be not to realize what you told me just the other day. Being ready is an illusion. You’re waiting for something that won’t happen. Still, at the same time, you’re the one who brought the gayness into this - D has no idea, but keeping this secret from her is eating you up from the inside. Trust me, not for one second it crossed her mind that you’re acting weird because you’re a lesbian. She’s not dumb, she’s probably realized that someone is living inside of your phone and keeping you away from your real life (hi, that would be me, by the way), but it stops there. She’s asking you all of these questions exactly because she doesn’t know, dummy. From what you tell me, I’m pretty sure that if she knew anything she’d talk to you about it, wouldn’t she? Your mind is starting to play tricks on you, Dolly, and I think you should tell D about what’s going on with you. Whether you come out to her or not is your choice, but you can’t go on stuffing your cheeks with secrets like you’re some sort of anxious squirrel forever. And listen to me when I say this: if you keep pushing her away like this, she’ll walk right out of your life and then you’ll regret not having told her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Face your fears, Dolly. You’re the smart one here, don’t let me steal your thunder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Since I’m relying solely on God and autocorrect at this point, I’ll tell you one more thing before I sneak downstairs to get some sugar in this body, but you’re gonna have to pay close attention, okay? It’s big, I don’t know how you’re gonna take this. Totally unexpected. Might shock your guts out of you. Ready? Ok, here it goes: you’re not a bad friend. Fuck, right? Who could have guessed? I know it’s huge news, so you can take a minute to get yourself back together. No, but seriously now, just because you’re going through a shitty moment with D it doesn’t make you a bad person or a bad friend. You did questionable things, but that’s not who you are. Like, in Spanish they have two ways of using the verb “to be”, and they have different meanings. There’s “ser” for describing things as they are permanently and “estar” for things that are temporary or just how they are at a moment. Right now you’re being a bad friend as in “estar”, which means it’s not forever. It’s just for a moment, you slipped up and shit happened, but in a minute you’ll be back to “ser” a good friend, and that is part of your true nature. You’ll be fine, Dolly. Also, you may be a numbers girl, but I’m a words girl. Te mantendré alerta, bella, siempre se lo que decir en cualquier idioma que elijas.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, don’t let me forget that you literally sat down and recorded yourself singing a song for me. You sang me a song, even though you’re terrified of singing in front of other people you still did that for me because you knew I needed comfort. Bad friends don’t do shit like that. You’re an amazing friend to me, Dolly, I hope you always will be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Love, Jodie. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>She’s something else. She’s something that goes deeper than that, that reaches into her heart and soul to make its nest. Katya lost sleep over it last night, re-reading that email one thousand times over, even though the conversation had already moved on from that, trying to find another word that could express everything that friend couldn’t but the only thing in her head was Dolly, Dolly, Dolly… Like she’s in a goddamn category of her own.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>SPOILERS: if this chapter had a title, it would be "coming out". *eyes emoji*<br/>Thanks to my girls <a href="http://zamo-95.tumblr.com/">Zamo-95</a>, <a href="http://fedu31.tumblr.com/">Fedu</a>, and <a href="https://katyasthwooorp.tumblr.com/">Katyasthwooorp</a> for always helping me out! Hope you guys enjoy it! If you need anything at all, you can find me on <a href="http://galaxybrunost505.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>September 5th, 2015. Sunday, 10:37 a.m.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Funny. That word is not supposed to be as bitter as it tastes against Trixie’s tongue right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie pouts. It’s not a lie, they </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> friends, they’re good friends, but why does the truth make her stomach feel heavy and acidic? With a sigh, she closes her eyes and turns to the side in bed, away from the sunlight that hurts her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, she definitely never had a friend to whom she opened up the way she did to Jodie, or to whom she said things like in her last e-mail. She pulls the covers up to her eyes and buries her head under it, leaving the nest of pink hair on her head out, bright under the rays of light coming from the gap between her curtains. It’s a little harder to breathe under the weight of her blanket, but she assumes it will be equally as difficult if she sticks her head back out, choosing to stay in the warmth, basking in it. She feels as if she had told Jodie the most brilliant thing in the world and got a shrug in response. It weighs her heart down and pulls at the ends of her hair, almost as annoying as it is upsetting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s what they are then. Friends. Seems like such a shallow word, like it can’t accommodate all that goes on between them. But whatever, right? Maybe it doesn’t even mean that much and Trixie was over-excited about it and thought more of it than it actually is. She’s an idiot, that’s all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tries not to spend the rest of her Sunday figuring out why the word “friend” stings so bad and focuses on finding words that she can pile into an apology to Dela. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>September 6th, 2015. Monday, 07:55 a.m. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By the time Monday morning comes and she walks into the school dragging her white boots down the hall to find Dela by her locker, she hopes the words won’t get caught around the barbed wire in her throat. When Trixie stops before her friend, the silence between them freezes the entire building, and goosebumps run down her arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” Trixie tries, and Dela raises her eyebrows, slamming her locker shut and crossing her arms in front of her chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry, Dela. What happened on Saturday night was awful and I can’t even put into words how shitty I feel about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you were right about everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I haven’t been 100% honest with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I’m a huge idiot. I hope you forgive me for that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dela runs her tongue over her teeth. “Repeat that part about me being right one more time, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie swallows a smile. “You were right about everything, as you always are. I’m really sorry for everything that I said and done, and I’m sorry I made you feel bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sigh, Dela opens her arms. “Come here, you idiot.” Trixie falls into her hug. “I’ll let this one slide, but if you pull that bullshit on me again I swear I will not be as nice about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seems fair,” Trixie breaks away from her. “And I think now I have some explaining to do, don’t I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wanna skip English and talk about it under the bleachers outside?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie blinks slowly at Dela. “As if,” she deadpans. “I love you, but don’t push it. We can talk about it over lunch, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dela rolls her eyes. “Whatever. But I’m copying your homework, just so you know. You owe me that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walk to class with their arms intertwined and big smiles plastered across their faces, commenting and joking about whatever new school gossip they heard, including some news about Faggypants having been spotted with a boy at a party on that weekend. Though Trixie knows Dela means no harm by saying “I wish he’d just speak up about it, then maybe people would stop being dickheads”, the side of her brain responsible for her emotions lags in the same instant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She swallows dry as Dela continues talking, but she isn’t listening anymore. Instead, she’s pulling all of the energy she has left inside of her body, which isn’t a lot, to convince herself she needs to do what she needs to do. For a moment, Trixie wishes she could simply ruthlessly interrupt her friend and break the news to her, just say it, let the words fly right out of her mouth like they know where they’re going, but she focuses on taking a deep breath and letting her friend move on with the conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Flashes of Tim Curry dressed up as Dr. Frank N Furter blow through her mind. If her imaginary transvestite can see her shiver in antici-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-Pation, she wonders if her real-life friend can. A part of her hopes not, but the way Dela’s eyes sway from her face back to the hall and the way her mouth is moving faster than her brain lets Trixie know she’s not the only one who’s shivering. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>September 6th, 2015. Monday, 01:22 p.m</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trixie and Dela find themselves sharing sad-looking fruit under the bleachers, watching the potheads smoke at the other end and hearing the stomping coming from the people sitting where they’re actually supposed to. The grass tickles Trixie’s butt even though she’s sitting on her jacket, but Dela doesn’t seem to feel anything at all. If she was a superhero, she’d be Iron Butt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Dela swallows, avoiding Trixie’s eyes, “is there anything you’d like to share?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time her friend looks up, Trixie fiddles with a slice of apple, sinking her short pink nails into it and then taking a bite. “Uh, yeah, there is.” Trixie inhales and exhales while Dela motions for her to speak. “I don’t know where to start.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you start at the beginning?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, yeah, sounds good. So, remember when counselor Monsoon left?” Dela nods, chewing on her own apple. “She actually gave me a sort of assignment, a… an email pen pal. It’s a girl from Sacred Heart of Jesus who also struggles with anxiety, so we’re like a support group for each other. We, uh, chose to remain anonymous… Well, I did, I don’t want her to know who I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dela frowns, lowering her shoulders. “Is that it? You have an online friend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s half of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dela raises her eyebrows. “Okay. Go on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Basically this girl went through something terrible and started having panic attacks and, you know, all that stuff you’re way too familiar with, but we ended up finding out we have </span>
  <em>
    <span>a lot</span>
  </em>
  <span> more in common than we thought we did.” The effort Trixie makes not to stutter at the end of the sentence pays off, but Dela’s face remains dark. She can see the worry in Dela’s eyes, she watches the way her friend’s body recoils into a little ball as she instinctively shrinks herself in preparation for whatever terrible news she is about to receive. It’s not fair that it’s come to this point. She’s used to suffering with the weight of her own thoughts, but watching her best friend quiver under that same pressure breaks her heart. It only then occurs to her that this is probably how Dela feels most of the time when Trixie’s not doing well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie’s nerves mean nothing. Dela deserves the truth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you guys have the same father?” Dela’s eyes widen comedically, but don’t brighten. The smile she sports doesn’t fool Trixie because she can see her hands fiddling with a piece of sad fruit. She chuckles, giving in to her friend’s attempt at lightening the situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you ass. Definitely not, it’s uh…” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rip the fucking band-aid</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Trixie thinks. She pretends her hands aren’t shaking, she pretends her heart isn’t running its own little marathon, she pretends she has it under control. “She likes girls. So, yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Dela voices. “I-is that what you guys have in common? That you both like… girls?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie nods. “I’m a lesbian.” The air feels so thick around her she can’t breathe and the silence deafens her. She watches Dela nod her head up and down, expression still dark and eyebrows knit together. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She’s gonna hate me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Trixie thinks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>she’s gonna hate me, she’s gonna hate me, sh…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hold the fuck up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dela shrugs. “Alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that all you have to say about this?” Trixie questions, lips almost giving in to a giggle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh… Well, I was actually pretty worried. I thought you were gonna say you were feeling fucking suicidal or something. I don’t care that you’re a lesbian. The only thing I care about is that you’re happy. The rest is just the rest. I’m happy you told me. And I’m also really happy you’ll never have to deal with a man in your life.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie launches a hug upon her friend, who stays still for a second before wrapping her arms around her. “Thank you,” she whispers. Dela tightens the hug in response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they finally let go, Trixie quickly dries the one or two tears that managed to escape and giggles. “Shit, it feels good to say it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dela rubs her shoulder. “I wish you hadn’t felt like you needed to keep it a secret for so long, and I’m so glad you told me…” She sighs. “Does anyone else know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Jodie…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jodie?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My pen pal, I call her Jodie. Like Jodie Foster.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, sure, sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jodie knows and Nurse Asia knows. Nurse Asia was actually the first person I ever told.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow,” Dela grunts. “Ok. I’m not offended by that at all.” Her frown immediately drops and a chuckle rises from her lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remember that day that I had a panic attack out of the blue?” Trixie bites her lip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t out of the blue, was it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie shakes her head. “Jodie and I had been talking and she started asking me about boys so I panicked. In my head, if I ever told anyone about being a lesbian they’d hate me for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no, Trix… That’s not true at all! I only hate you when you force me to listen to country music inside of my own car!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rolls her eyes and laughs. “I know it makes no sense, but it’s my anxiety speaking. And I had to tell Nurse Asia because she thought something more serious was going on with me, then I told Jodie and she said that she’s into girls too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m happy you found a friend who’s also queer. I kinda get why you spend so much time on your phone now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I feel bad for having left you out but she… we get each other in a way that I can’t even explain. It’s such a different kind of friendship than what I have with you, or even with Shangie.” Trixie sighs. “It’s almost like I feel a pull towards her. I’m convinced that she can read my mind and feel what I feel… The connection that we have… I’ve never, ever, felt that with anyone before. I never knew how much I needed someone like her in my life. How much I needed </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> in my life, basically. She’s the best part of my day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what you’re telling me is that you have a crush on her, basically.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Trixie absentmindedly nods, head still full of Jodie. When the words register, her bubble bursts. “I mean, no, no. Definitely not. We’re friends, like you and I are friends, but… different.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dela blinks slowly. “See, I used to think you were immune to crushes… It made sense that you never liked a boy now that you told me you like girls, but I’m getting the impression that you’re not immune to them, you’re just… dumb.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up, it’s not like that at all,” Trixie feels the shame reddening her cheeks. “I don’t have a crush on her. Period.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you say, geez. I’m not gonna push it because if I yell at you it’ll be a hate crime, but you need to get yourself figured out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t, I swear. If I had a crush on her I’d tell you, for real.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The squint in Dela’s brown eyes gives space to an eyebrow raise. “Ok, ok. I’m just saying you seem to be extremely fond of this Jodie girl… Which is fine, it’s good for you to make new friends, especially when you can relate to them so well. But if she tries to steal my spot in your life, she better get ready to catch these hands.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie laughs loudly enough to catch the attention of the potheads standing opposite to them under the bleachers. Soon, the bell rings and both girls get their bags and food together and run to Spanish class, but Trixie never hears what her teacher has to say about pretérito imperfecto and perfecto simple. The only thing running in circles in her mind is Dela’s previous statement. She’ll bite her tongue before she admits her friend is right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While they take some time to write down brief grammar explanations after having practiced speaking in pairs, Trixie sneaks her phone out and googles “how do I know if I have a crush on my friend”. She pretends not to see Dela watching over her shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>September 6th, 2015. Monday, 08:00 a.m.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Friend</span>
  </em>
  <span>, for fuck’s sake. Katya hates that word, she wants to strangle whoever invented it and then burn their body down so she won’t leave a trace. She’s an idiot - no, she’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking idiot</span>
  </em>
  <span>, which is worse by a few degrees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Part of her is glad that her drunk ass self didn’t send anything else that might have been more compromising, which could have made the situation worse, but calling Dolly a friend made her want to punch herself in the face. Gigi is her friend, Monét is her friend, but Dolly is… not that. She’s something else. She’s something that goes deeper than that, that reaches into her heart and soul to make its nest. Katya lost sleep over it last night, re-reading that email one thousand times over, even though the conversation had already moved on from that, trying to find another word that could express everything that friend couldn’t but the only thing in her head was Dolly, Dolly, Dolly… Like she’s in a goddamn category of her own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brooke would have been useful in a situation like this. Katya tries to imagine all the things she would say and what she could do with that information, but it’s hard because Brooke isn’t actually saying anything. It’s just her brain trying to figure it out on its own with words she already knows and has already thought of. She needs new words from different voices since the ones inside her head don’t seem to be cooperating. Leaning her head against her locker, she gulps. She might need to ask for… help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need your help,” a voice whispers at the base of her neck. She almost chuckles thinking it’s coming from inside of her own head, but once she opens her eyes and turns around, she finds Monét standing there, eyes wet. Immediately, she reaches out and touches her friend’s arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to kill me,” Monét whispers, lip trembling and tears begging to be let out. “Gigi can’t know, you have to promise me you won’t tell Gigi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya’s worry sinks down heavy on her stomach, letting the statement settle inside of her brain and preparing herself for what she might hear. “What did you do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I’m pregnant.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>September 6th, 2015. Monday, 09:34 a.m.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sneaking out of school to go buy a pregnancy test at the nearest Walgreens wasn’t exactly what Katya had expected of today, but who is she to say no to an adventure? She and Monét argue on whether they should or shouldn’t spend twenty dollars on a Clearblue test after Monét told her the entire story of how her hook-up went wrong and then her period was late. On their walk back to school, as they discuss possible baby names and try to make them rhyme with Monét, Katya’s heart beats a little faster at the realization that this is how much her friend trusts her. It dawns on her that not too long ago, one of her best friends dropped everything she was doing, including the football player she had been eyeing for so long, to help her calm down during an anxiety attack in the middle of a party while today her other best friend is willing to let her name a child she may or may not be carrying at this exact moment. Could you imagine if she was actually bearing a child, an entire human being. Katya’s secrets seem silly near that, so silly that as they run up the stairs to the bathroom on the second floor, she bites her lip while Monét mutters a prayer under her breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sweat stains the underarms of her white uniform shirt as she thinks about how scary her feelings are, but how they’re definitely not as scary as taking a pregnancy test in the bathroom of a conservative Catholic school. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hiding the plastic bag inside of Katya’s backpack, they try their best not to look suspicious as they walk in. There is a figure leaning over the sinks and applying lip gloss, but Katya isn’t sure of who it is because the sun that comes in through the window blinds her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” a familiar voice resonates, “look who’s here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gasps when she can finally make out who the girl is. “Roxxxy,” Monét grunts. “How lovely to see you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roxxxy Andrews is one of the older girls who used to bully and hit Katya when they were in middle school. Even though she and Monét were not friends back then, she and everyone else in the school know who she is and what she did to Katya. They hadn’t spoken since Brooke got her and her friend Phi Phi suspended for allegedly cheating on a test, but that never stopped them from killing Katya with mean looks as they passed by each other up and down the hallways or crossed each other’s paths during lunch. Katya knew what those looks meant and she knew what those looks could do, but she had her sister with her so she knew nothing would happen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that’s not the case anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shouldn’t you guys be in class now?” Roxxxy blinks at them, placing her hands on her waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shouldn’t you be minding your own business?” Monét strikes back, making Katya purse her lips and widen her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roxxxy laughs. “Why so acid, X Change? You’re not even letting your little friend here speak,” she takes a step closer to Katya. “Oh, my mistake. I’m sure hanging out with a lesbo this long already made you turn into her girlfriend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya’s blood boils. So far, her brain had been frozen in place, fearful and traumatized. Hearing Roxxxy’s voice took her back to places she wishes she could forget she had even been to, and if she was already nervous because of the whole pregnancy scare situation, now she was on the edge of a panic attack. Roxxxy is probably well aware of that, she knows how much impact she can have on Katya, especially now that her sister isn’t around to stand up for her, but what she doesn’t know is that Katya isn’t twelve anymore and that she can still speak, even if through shaky words, when her friends are on the line. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wasn’t funny when I was in sixth grade, isn’t funny now, Roxxxy. But don’t worry, you’re no less of a clown just because you make bad jokes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roxxxy grins like a maniac. “Watch out, the kitty’s got claws!” Katya’s face betrays her as the redness stains her cheeks. “That’s adorable, you finally learned how to speak! I’m glad you know how to use your tongue for something… Well, something else, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Monét taps her foot on the cold tiles, “You got your lip gloss on, you insulted us, your to-do list is complete, why don’t you just fuck right out of here already and move on with your day?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roxxxy takes another step closer to them and Monét rolls her eyes while Katya swallows dry. “Why am I bothering you so much? You want the bathroom all to yourselves so you can have a little dyke fest?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We want the bathroom all to ourselves so we don’t have to see your face anymore, but thanks for the concern,” Monét raises her eyebrows and gestures for Roxxxy to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what’s funny?” Roxxxy asks, licking her lips. “I don’t think Zamo ever answered the burning question.” Katya’s heart stops. “Are you or are you not gay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya’s teeth feel like they’re going to fall out as soon as she opens her mouth. It takes her two tries to do it and she rehearses </span>
  <em>
    <span>no I’m not no I’m not no I’m not</span>
  </em>
  <span> in her head in the few seconds she has to spare, but as soon as she speaks what comes out is a faint “maybe”. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, Monét’s short on patience and at the exact same time she decides to speak up. “Yes, Roxxxy, can’t you see we are two gay men with hairy chests and huge dicks up to gay stuff? Honestly, what is wrong with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huge dicks? Only if they’re store-bought,” Roxxxy chuckles, but before she can continue, the bathroom door trickles open and in comes Blair St. Clair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though she doesn’t believe in God, Katya sends a thank you to whatever divine entity is willing to listen to her. Blair used to be one of Brooke’s closest friends, and she more than once found herself being comforted by the older girl after a few especially hard days at school. She would always sneak into the sleepovers that Brooke, Blair, and their other friend Shea had. Blair was there when Katya got drunk for the first time, and Blair helped her pick out a dress to wear to last year’s school dance, and Blair yelled at Chad when the whole “Jock tricks dyke into making out gone wrong” thing went down. Blair also stayed until the very end of Brooke’s wake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They haven’t spoken since, only traded a few shy hellos here and there. Katya wishes she knew what to say to her, especially now that she feels caught in such an awkward situation. The air inside of the girls’ bathroom feels so thick that Blair seems to realize that something is wrong immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi girls, what’s up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not much,” Monét grunts, still tapping her foot. “We’re just having our daily dose of bullying and harassment. Yum!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just having a little chat with dyke and dyker,” Roxxxy replies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, wow,” Blair’s tall-ish boots click on the floor as she makes her way to stand between Roxxxy and the girls. Even though she’s short and skinny like a twig, Katya feels like the Wall of China is protecting her. “That’s not a very nice word to use, Roxxxy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Boohoo, St. Clair, maybe you can help me pick out a better word at Sears, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what I think is funny? For someone who likes accusing people of being gay, you seem to spend a lot of time obsessing about sixteen-year-old girls.” Blair cocks her head to the side. “But not as much time as you spend obsessing about Valentina’s boyfriend… Am I right?” She smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Roxxxy mutters between teeth. Katya’s lips wiggle out a simper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, but I do,” Blair smirks. “And if you keep bothering these girls, everyone else will know too. You should go now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roxxxy bumps her shoulder into Blair’s as she walks past her, but stops on her tracks once she’s closer to Katya. She bends down low enough so that her lips meet Katya’s ear. “I’m here to make it clear, Zamo,” she whispers. “Lesbians aren’t welcome here.” Chills run down her spine but Katya doesn’t look back to watch Roxxxy leave, only knowing she’s gone when the door slams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Blair,” Katya breathes out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, thanks. What a bitch,” Monét says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine, I just hope she hasn’t been too much of an asshole to you guys.” Katya looks at Blair, who’s shorter than her by an inch or so, but right now looks so tall and angelic, and immediately gives in to her instinct of diving into a hug. She is hugged right back. “I’m so sorry, Kat. With everything going on… You really shouldn’t have to be having to deal with shitty people like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were awesome. Thanks again.” They break apart. “I was so overwhelmed, I didn’t even know what to do…” She looks at Monét. “And you got dragged into it. Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not your fault at all, Katya. I bet it brought up some bad memories, I would have reacted the same way. But you’re safe with us. She can’t hurt you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only she can. “I need to learn how to stand up for myself. But thank you, girls. Especially you Blair. You didn’t have to defend me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you talking about? You’re my honorary little sister. It’s my job to make sure you’re alright. I’ll talk to Shea later and we’ll keep an eye out for Roxxxy and Phi Phi. They won’t bother you again,” Blair pinches Katya’s cheek. The blonde smiles in response as Monét hugs her closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was very low of her to do that, especially right now. I promise that Gigi and I are always by your side,” she says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been a while since Katya felt this loved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as Blair leaves the girls’ bathroom, Monét runs into a stall while Katya waits for her leaning against the wall. When she’s done, they both sit on the cold tiles and wait for the lines to appear. Reality feels so heavy right now that Katya has trouble separating what is real and what isn’t. Monét might be pregnant. Monét might become a </span>
  <em>
    <span>mother</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Everything feels so small next to that, next to how her friend’s life could change. She might need to drop out of school and then leave her plan of travelling around South America behind, she might never get the chance to go to college. How does liking girls impact Katya’s life? It certainly doesn’t stop her from pursuing any of her personal goals, like moving out of Leegreat Haven or going to college. Of course it could affect her relationship with her parents and with people at her school, but if they don’t take her as she is, does she want to be around them anyway? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks at Monét. She had been so impatient and angry before, but now she looks like a child, sitting cross-legged on the floor staring at a stick she peed on. Katya puts an arm around her shoulders, pretending she doesn’t know her friend could burst into tears at any moment, and Monét leans into it, letting herself be embraced. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I should do that more often</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Katya thinks, observing Monét’s reaction. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Like I’ve done it today</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I think I need to right now</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She thinks about what she told Dolly in her drunken email, about letting D in, letting herself be open about things, even if that implies in coming out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two lines means I’m pregnant, one line means I’m not,” Monét whispers. Katya holds her closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If that second line appears</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thinks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I won’t say a word about it because Monét will be going through a lot. If there’s only one line, I’ll say it</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as the color starts to show, Monét holds Katya’s hand tightly enough to nearly cut off all the blood circulation and she holds her breath for a good minute or so, but then exhales, letting her shoulders hang loose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank fucking God,” she breathes out. “No baby. I’m not having a baby."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya groans playfully. “I really wanted to have a mini Monét to spoil. We could have named her Renesmeét.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the whitest fucking thing you’ve ever said,” Monét laughs, still a little out of breath, but her laugh grows in a crescendo. Katya watches her laugh until she cries and smiles along all the way, rubbing her hands up and down her back. Even though she’s relishing in her friend’s relief, there is a voice in the back of her head telling her that now she knows what she needs to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, uh,” Katya clears her throat as soon as Monét’s laughter dies down. “There's something that I need to tell you and Gigi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Monét furrows her brow, but nods. “Okay.” Both girls stand up, take the pregnancy test, and Monét steps on it a couple dozen times, breaking it into pieces and then throwing it in the trash. As they reach for the door, Monét places her hand over Katya’s arm. “Does… Does it have anything to do with that ‘maybe’ you said earlier?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya doesn’t even stop to ask if she’s heard that, only nods. “It does,” she confirms. As they walk out to the hallway, she tries to find the words to use, pretending she doesn’t already have them ready to be said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>September 6th, 2015. Monday, 01:55 p.m.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You may be wondering why I have gathered you here today,” Katya joins her hands in front of her face, a lit cigarette hanging from her chapped lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gigi crosses her arms. “If my hair smells like smoke after this, I swear to God…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three girls have invaded the old changing room behind the tennis court that is falling out of use now that the chilly winds of September start to tease their days. It smells permanently of sweat and is usually frequented by horny juniors and seniors who can’t keep it in their pants in the colder months. Instead of sitting on the benches, they chose to sit on a circle on the floor. Monét is fiddling with a bar of Snickers and Gigi’s expression translates the absolute disgust that she feels to be here right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya’s heart is beating at a million miles an hour. Her brain throws thoughts around about whether or not this is the right thing to do, whether or not this is the moment for it, but she respectfully chooses to ignore them and focuses on her breathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re sweating,” Monét points out. “This is going to be better than me thinking I was pregnant.” She freezes just in time to realize her mistake as Gigi violently turns in her direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You thought you were </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Monét’s hands fly up in surrender. “But I’m not, I’m not! I promise I’m not!” Gigi smacks her arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell? Are you serious about this?” Gigi turns to Katya. “Is she serious about this?” She nods. “Why did you not tell me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I didn’t feel like being beaten up,” Monét responds, dodging Gigi’s next blow on her arm. “Can we please focus on Katya for a moment?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gigi frowns. “We’ll have a chat about this later,” she grunts. “But you’re right. Katya, you better have some good news.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya widens her eyes and takes a long drag from her cigarette. “So, about that…” She lets the smoke dance its way out of her mouth. “I… I don’t know how to say it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it bad news or good news?” Monét asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhhhh… Good? It could be good news, but at the same time it’s kinda bad,” Katya explains. Gigi looks like a confused chicken who’s just been told she’ll be the Christmas dinner. “Don’t give me that look.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m preparing myself. At least you’re not going to be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>mother</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No one</span>
  </em>
  <span> is going to be a mother, for fuck’s sake,” Monét says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you thought you were going to. And I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you have skipped class to go buy a pregnancy test with us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, maybe, yeah. I’d probably yell at you on the way there and also on the way back, but of course I’d go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I was exactly trying to avoid all the yelling. Katya even helped me pick a name for....”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a crush on someone,” Katya announces loud enough to shut them both up and make them turn their heads to her. She lets go of the breath she was holding and takes yet another long drag. The silence turns into a squeal coming from Gigi.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you kidding me? Who is it?” She claps as if she were a child who’s just been told she’s going to Disney World. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the funny part,” Katya mutters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it a senior? Or is he in our grade?” Monét asks. “If it’s Chad, Matt or Brad I’ll already say that’s not a good idea and it’s never gonna happen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ew, no! Not in a million years, trust me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, is it that one guy from our class that you talk to in Math? Mike?” Gigi guesses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I literally threatened to kill his dog if he didn’t help me cheat on the test we’re having next week, so no,” Katya frowns. “That’s not how I flirt.” She pauses. “Well, I think it’s not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it Shea’s brother? Sean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Also no…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t talk to any boys, though…” Monét observes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya takes another drag and coughs it out. Her heart is trying to pound its way out of her chest, but her ribcage is managing to hold it still for now. The words are at the tip of her tongue, but the strength she finds herself mustering to be able to get them out into the world is outrageous. “Yeah, um… It’s not a boy.” Silence. “It’s a girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence again. Katya’s pretty sure at this point everyone in the room can hear her heartbeat. The backs of her knees start to get sweaty and she brings her legs closer to her, hoping it’ll go away. “Oh,” Monét bites her lip. “So it’s Shea herself?” Katya smiles and shakes her head. “That’s… Okay. I mean, are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> okay with it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m learning how to be,” she responds. Gigi throws herself over at the blonde, wrapping her tightly in a hug. Katya has no choice but to let herself be hugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re here for you, Kat, no matter what,” Gigi tells her. “I’m happy you told us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gigi lets go. “I think I’m happy I told you guys too. It’s… It took me long enough to come to terms with it, after all that has happened and like… Well, just this morning Roxxxy was back at being a homophobic jerk at me and she doesn’t even know the truth, so imagine if she did know. I don’t even want to imagine what could happen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We won’t tell anyone,” Gigi promises. “And maybe you shouldn’t either. I mean, Monét and I are obviously cool with it, we love you very much and we’ll always be here for you, but the other people at school? Yeah, I don’t think they’ll be as understanding.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They probably think you’re going to hell for being gay, but I’m sure it’s only because they don’t know what else you’re up to,” Monét says and the girls erupt in a fit of laughter. “But as long as you’re with us, I swear we will always protect you if it comes to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, girls. It really means a lot to me.” Katya sighs. “And I have a feeling you weren’t that shocked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really, no… But I am shocked by you having a crush on someone, so if you will please elaborate on that,” Gigi scrunches her nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya takes one final drag of her cigarette, presses what’s left of it against the floor with unnecessary force until it’s completely out, and shoves the butt in her pocket. “So there’s this girl…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t think I’d be alive to see you say this, oh my God,” Monét whispers, leading them to another set of laughs. “Go on, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I met her because Mrs. Michaels put us in touch since we both could use a friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, fuck you too,” Gigi snorts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not like that,” Katya explains. “This other girl, we chose not to reveal our names so I call her Dolly. Like, her counselor and my counselor thought it would be a good idea to put us together because we’re both a little fucked in the head and we needed someone who could understand that.” She sighs. “I was having a hard time reaching out to you guys since Brooke died, so she really, really helped me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s sweet. I’m glad she was able to comfort you,” Gigi smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya nods. “And turns out she is a lesbian, which to me was… Well, it was lit. It’s good to have someone that’s like you, you know?” Gigi nods and Monét smiles. “But now I think I fucked up because she’s literally all I think about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s cute. It sounds like a love story you’d see in a book,” Gigi wiggles her eyebrows. “Two lovers who know everything about each other… except for who they are.” She squeals, holding her hands close to her heart. Monét rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Straight up I’m happy you like someone, I’m happy you’re coming to terms with your own feelings, but… I don’t want you to get hurt.” She shrugs. “I know it’s part of the process, but you’ve already been through so much and so recently, I don’t know if investing in this, diving in head first is the right thing to do now. Plus, I don’t want your first real crush to be rushed into tragedy, and I know you well enough to know you’re not sure how to act.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right,” Katya says. “Just this weekend she sent me this… Gorgeous email, telling me about how I reach to her soul and other things like that and I wrote back telling her that she’s a great friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, you really are an idiot,” Monét deadpans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe you should give it some time,” Gigi suggests. “See how things go, slowly try to reapproach her…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you should… How do I say this without sounding like a douchebag?” Monét clicks her tongue. “I think if you take some time to have other experiences with other girls, it won’t be so scary when you get to Dolly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So basically I should be the female version of a fuckboy? A fuckgirl?” Katya asks, arms crossed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not necessarily, it just makes you prepared,” Monét points at her, then snaps her fingers. “Plus, after having kissed half of Leegreat Haven on the lips, what do you have to lose?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, okay, but she only kissed </span>
  <em>
    <span>boys</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s different,” Gigi says. “It didn’t mean anything because she never had any real feelings for them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She won’t have feelings for all the girls she kisses either, Genevieve, or should I call you Mother Theresa?” Gigi smacks Monét’s arm again. “Why are you mad, though? There is no reason for Katya not to kiss other girls.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t the fact that she already likes someone enough?” Gigi argues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Monét does have a point,” Katya nods. “Plus, I don’t even know if Dolly and I will ever... “ She shrugs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Monét sticks her tongue out at Gigi. “See? She thinks I’m right, which is a miracle, I know, so let me enjoy my moment. Kat, is there any girl you find cute around here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya’s face betrays her by letting her cheeks be tinted pink. “Yes,” she mutters. “That girl who sells popcorn at The Screen Queen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And have you ever tried to flirt with her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... I think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Monét claps. “That’s it. Keep doing that. Just… Learn how to have fun with it, how to let it flow, and when you finally get to Dolly it will be a lot easier for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope you’re right, girl, I really hope so because I don’t know if I can afford to fuck this up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go slow,” Gigi smiles sympathetically. “You have a lot going on already. Just… Try not to get too attached too soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Katya gets the chance to answer, the door creaks open and bangs against the wall. “Who’s there? It smells like smoke in here,” the janitor coughs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” Katya murmurs. For a few minutes, she knows her mind won’t be caught up on Dolly… Or Trixie. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>September 7th, 2015. Tuesday, 07:04 p.m.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It has been another slow day at The Screen Queen. A couple has come in as soon as they opened and disappeared into the screening room, but, other than Trixie’s low humming of Backwoods Barbie, it has been quiet since. Too quiet, Trixie comes to realize. As usual, she has a textbook with her, and when she looks up from it, Shangie is watching her with eagle eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re acting weird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie stops on her tracks, flipping her hair away from her shoulder as she fixes her posture. “What does that even mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shangie shrugs. “You look… Happy. Normally there’s a little dark cloud following you around while you mess with your books and stuff.” She squints. “But today you’re… singing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not singing, I’m just humming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Same thing. Something really nice happened to you and you haven’t told me!” Shangie slams her hand on the counter. “Traitor!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie chuckles. “I mean… I am in a good mood, I’ve had a good day today, but nothing out of the ordinary happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... Sure, okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing, you’re just being weird and you’re not telling me why!” Shangie's eyes widen and she points at Trixie with questioning eyebrows. “Does it have to do with Katya?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No, why would it have to do with Katya?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So there</span>
  <em>
    <span> is</span>
  </em>
  <span> something!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Touché. “Fine, yes, there is something. But it’s none of your business!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you meet another girl, then? Or boy, I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie takes a deep breath in and bites her lip, blinking slowly. “H-No. There is no… girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then what is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shakes her head. Shangie is still staring at her, eyes eager for whatever answer she has to offer, but instead, Trixie prompts her with a question: “How did you… How did you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shangie sighs. Her expression softens into kindness and she smiles. “Honestly? Katya. The only gaydar I need is the way you look at that girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A furious redness stains Trixie’s face. “Shut up,” they laugh together. When their giggles die down, Trixie smiles at Shangie. “I came out to my friend today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s why you’re happy!” Trixie nods. “I’m glad. It’s an important step to take. I, uh… I never came out to my friends here in Leegreat Haven. Only to the ones in college.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie frowns, her face already asking enough questions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t feel like I could, and I still think I was right. So I’m really happy for you for having friends that you can count on, and I hope you know that, even though I joke about it all the time, I never mean to make you uncomfortable or anything. I want to show you that it’s okay, and normal, and awkward, and I’d be just as annoying if it was about a boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Shangie,” Trixie smiles. She could never have picture this scenario, talking halfway openly about her sexuality with another queer woman, especially not with Shangela of all people. But her heart is warm. This is what it’s meant to be like. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank me later,” she signals to the door and… oh. Here we go again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie wants to pretend that her heart doesn’t do a double-take as soon as she spots Katya by the door, but the flush on her cheeks denounces her. She quickly glances at Shangie, who already has a shit-eating grin plastered on her face, waiting to make a comment or two. “Not a word,” Trixie mouths to her. She raises her hands in surrender, but Trixie knows that once Katya has gone into that screening room, Shangie will let her have it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Katya, what’s up?” Shangie asks, still smiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m good, thanks. Can I get one for… Uh, what’s on tonight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have… American Ultra and… American Ultra!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm, I think I’ll go with American Ultra,” Katya laughs. They exchange the ticket and cash, and as Katya walks her way, Trixie twirls her hair on her index finger and looks at the clock on the wall above Shangie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air feels heavy and Trixie’s heart is beating out of rhythm. She feels like at the very moment she chooses to look down and take Katya’s presence in, something will explode inside of her and the only remnant left will be her big gay brain. For whatever godforsaken reason, Katya decided to wear a skirt and fishnets to pair with her boots today, leaving the bruises on her knees and shins exposed, but Trixie only notices them after she takes a second to stare at how muscular her skinny legs actually are. Her calves look like they were sculpted from a rock by Michelangelo himself, and no, she is not having to hold her mouth closed to avoid drooling. Katya has a dark flannel over her black shirt and it’s so big it could have belonged to her grandad - if her grandad happened to be Andre the Giant. She noticed when the girl walked into the theater how she held onto the brims of the sleeves showing only the tip of her fingers, nails short and painted black. She’s so cool. If she punched Trixie in the face, Trixie would thank her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the corner of her eye, she can see that Katya’s close enough that she’s gonna have to face her soon, and when she draws her eyes away from the wall and down to the girl standing in front of her, she realizes she was right. Something inside of her does explode when she lays eyes on her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” Trixie offers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” Katya smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie tries to hide the blush, but it’s useless. And maybe, just maybe, it’s her imagination, but Katya’s cheeks look pretty red too. “So you’re watching American Ultra? Jesse Eisenberg is in it, he’s one of my favorite actors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, he is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Totally. I really like him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya brushes her bangs away from her eyes and Trixie is met with sparkly blue gemstones. It would be very easy to get lost in them if she let herself. “You know… Kristen Stewart is in the movie too. I like her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie nods along until her brain catches up to the information. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If the blush on her cheeks was already evident, now it’s alarming. “Y-you like Kristen Stewart?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya swallows dry. “Yeah, I do. Do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you ever seen The Runaways?” Okay, </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span> indeed. Trixie knows what Katya’s doing. This isn’t a random question, she realizes, it was probably very well calculated, and now she needs to give Katya an answer.</span>
  <em>
    <span> I can do this</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There’s a reason she’s asking me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I can do this. Trixie pushes a strand of curly hair behind her ear, and though she tries, she isn’t able to look away from Katya, but the other girl seems not to be making any effort either. Their eyes are locked and they barely blink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I have. Do you like it?” Trixie offers a shy smile and hopes Katya doesn’t notice her lips are trembling with the weight of all the words she isn’t saying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya nods. “I do. I really like it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I really like it too,” Trixie widens her smile, then immediately inhales it back, making her expression softer. Katya’s eyes widen. They’re having two different conversations, but just to be sure, Trixie says “I like, you know, the plot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Totally. The plot,” Katya agrees. Okay, okay, this is happening. Trixie licks her lips. “Nice. I don’t know many people who like The Runaways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, me neither,” Trixie holds back a giggle. “I think Shangie likes The Runaways too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, really?” Katya purses her lips. “But, um, yeah. You like it. I’m glad you like it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a punk bitch, Katya looks extremely flushed. Trixie stands frozen for a second, feeling the heat grow on her face and on the tips of her ears. “Th-thank you. I’m glad you like it as well.” She pretends not to see Shangie rolls her eyes and slams her face down on her counter in the background. “Do you, uh… Want some popcorn?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Medium with extra butter, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Trixie hands Katya her popcorn, the tips of their fingers brush softly against each other, but they keep their gaze locked. “Enjoy your movie,” Trixie smiles. Katya’s red lips give out and let the grin she had been holding finally fall out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you. I will.” Instead of walking off, Katya stands by the counter for another few seconds, then nods Trixie goodbye and finds her way to the screening room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think you two have any idea of how ridiculous you are,” Shangie grunts. “If you don’t ask her out yourself, I’ll do it for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I like The Runaways, do you like The Runaways</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” She mimics. “Girl, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>. What in the name of fuck was that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie shrugs. “Well, that’s my way of doing things. I’m still learning, don’t be impatient.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, when I was your age I did things very differently…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Shangie rambles on about something that Trixie should be paying attention to, her mind runs back and forth between Jodie and Katya and Jodie and Katya. With a sigh, she rests her chin on her hand, wondering what kind of mess she’s letting herself get into. She bites down on a smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is the best mess she could have chosen for herself, she thinks. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Monét's pregnancy scare was based on <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3xRx0tuGGgM&amp;t=635s">this</a> video.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>You creep me the fuck out. I think it’s impossible that a person with no face is able to look so deep inside of me, into places I can’t even see are there, but you do it anyway. You can’t see my dirty look, my smirk, or my weirdly expressive mean eyebrows, you can only see what’s inside of me, under all of that, but this is it: a blur of feelings tangled together trying to figure themselves out without making too much noise. It’s just… When you reach into that, I let myself scream. I stop trying to pretend I don’t exist or that I don’t feel because I want you to know I do. I like existing with you. </p><p>I hope you like existing with me too.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello sapphics! Hope you're doing well! Sorry for how long it took me to update, but I'm here now hehehehe. College has been insane, and so has work, but I'm always happy to spend a little time here looking over the comments &lt;3 you are all waaaaaay too nice to me!<br/>Thanks to my homegirls <a href="http://zamo-95.tumblr.com/">Zamo-95</a>, <a href="http://fedu31.tumblr.com/">Fedu</a>, and <a href="https://katyasthwooorp.tumblr.com/">Katyasthwooorp</a> for helping me out with this chapter! And thanks to you all for reading and leaving such nice, heartwarming comments! You always make my day brighter, and I hope this story does the same for you (at least when it doesn't make you cry hahaha!). Love you &lt;3 </p><p>(this chapter is only mildly sad!)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Date: September 7th, 2015. Wednesday, 02:48 p.m.</p><p>From: <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com"> brightredscare@gmail.com </a></p><p>To: <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com"> iqkitty@gmail.com </a></p><p>Subject: Turns out my friends do love and support me, I would never have guessed</p><p> </p><p>Dear Dolly,</p><p>I may or may not have followed the very same advice that I gave you and come out to my friends yesterday. </p><p>I told them everything, about you and about liking girls and they were so, so nice about it. I had no idea they would be this nice. I thought G would maybe be a little on the fence about it, knowing she has more of a traditional idea of romance and hopes that one day her prince charming will come, but she was extremely supportive about it, and so was M. They did remind me, though, that I shouldn’t tell anyone else, at least for now, because I do go to a catholic school and people’s minds are still small as beans over here.</p><p>In fact… I put off telling you about this, but I ran into one of the girls who used to be a bitch to me when I was younger, and turns out she’s still a bitch. It was when M and I went to the bathroom so she could take a pregnancy test (long story, but no baby). It was lowkey one of the most awkward situations I have ever found myself in, and mind you, I had to explain to my parents why my room smelled like weed once. She basically accused M of being my girlfriend and thought we were going to do ~dirty lesbian stuff~ in the bathroom, when it was almost the opposite of that. It was traumatic and I know that I had told Brooke that I didn’t need her protection anymore, but on Monday more than ever I realized how untrue that is. I froze. I tried to say something, but the girl shut me right down. M was not in a good mood, so she fought back very well and, I guess because God loves me, one of my sister’s friends, who’s a senior, walked in and caught her in the act. It all turned out fine, and though I felt bad I couldn’t stand up for myself, I’m glad I had people who were there for me.</p><p>The thing is that in the middle of all that, she looked me dead in the eye and asked me if I was a lesbian and since I’m a dumb bitch I said “maybe”. I don’t think she heard it, but M definitely did. I was worried she was going to say something about it, but she didn’t, and I ended up coming out to her and G right after lunch. It felt really good to say it out loud for the first time, and their reaction was incredibly comforting. I feel like that wall I had put up between them and me faded a little today. Maybe I should give it a shot and start hanging out more with them again, even try to go to a few parties. Who knows. </p><p>I just… Well. Okay. You know I have a little habit of drinking alone in my bedroom while I cry over my dead sister and how much life sucks without her, yeah? I don’t know what’s going to happen if I go out and have a few too many. What if I start crying in the middle of a party? I really need people to think I’m scary and intimidating, and crying in public won’t help me keep that up. I’ve already given in enough to open up about my feelings in front of my friends, how many steps away am I from doing it in front of random people from my school? I don’t want them to feel bad for me. I’d prefer it if they never felt anything at all towards me, but if they must, may it be fear. </p><p>Sometimes I can’t help but think about how the only person who I don’t want to intimidate is you. Intimidating G and M sometimes helps keep them on the line, and intimidating my parents makes them avoid me, which is… good. I mean, my relationship with them has gotten better ever since we cleared Brooke’s room out, but I’m still getting used to having them this close to me. I used to intimidate Brooke too, and I was good at it, considering how many times it got me out of talking about whether I am or not a huge lesbian. I guess at this point it’s almost my default attitude towards everyone around me. I give them a dirty look, a smirk, and weirdly expressive mean eyebrows. </p><p>Almost everyone. Not you. </p><p>You creep me the fuck out. I think it’s impossible that a person with no face is able to look so deep inside of me, into places I can’t even see are there, but you do it anyway. You can’t see my dirty look, my smirk, or my weirdly expressive mean eyebrows, you can only see what’s inside of me, under all of that, but this is it: a blur of feelings tangled together trying to figure themselves out without making too much noise. It’s just… When you reach into that, I let myself scream. I stop trying to pretend I don’t exist or that I don’t feel because I want you to know I do. I like existing with you. </p><p>I hope you like existing with me too. </p><p>Love, Jodie.</p><p>***</p><p>September 7th, 2015. Wednesday, 07:15 p.m. </p><p>From: <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com"> iqkitty@gmail.com </a></p><p>To: <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com"> brightredscare@gmail.com </a></p><p>Subject: Of course your friends love and support you, they forced you to make out with a dumpster, that’s their love language</p><p> </p><p>Dear Jodie,</p><p>I’m thrilled to hear you had a good experience coming out to your friends! I know what it means to you to finally have been able to do it, and I’m so so so happy it went well! Your friends love you so much more than you realize.</p><p>They do have a point about not telling other people, at least not for now, especially at your school. I’m sorry you had to put up with one of your old bullies, and I don’t think you should be too hard on yourself about not knowing how to react. She caught you off-guard and you owe her nothing, not your time, and not even a reaction. I know you well enough to guess that what you really want is to put her in her place, show her that you’re grown and over it (even though you’re not), but I’ll tell you one thing that hurts more than hate: indifference. It’s easier said than done, but all she wants is to get a reaction out of you, and you don’t need to give her one. The moment she sees you’re no longer affected by her presence, things will be different. </p><p>Why do I feel like I’m always having to pull you out of trouble?</p><p>And what can I say about your drinking habits? I’m not one to judge, but you drink too much. Your organs probably think you’re dead and your liver is organizing the funeral. You need to start talking to your counselor before you develop an actual drinking problem at 16, you dumb fuck, and we don’t want that. I think it’s a good idea you start to hang out more with your friends, and if you’re afraid of drunk-crying because of Brooke then why don’t you just… not drink? Or at least drink less? That could be a good exercise for you, putting yourself in social situations and trying not to cry in public, it’s personally my favorite sport. At this point, I’ve cried in public a lot, way more times you could possibly imagine. Not only that, but, as a consequence of my panic attacks, I’ve also vomited and passed out, so trust me, crying is not the worst you can do in the middle of a room full of people. </p><p>You may be asking yourself how can I even walk back into school the next day, after one of these things happen (the vomiting is especially nasty), and I’ll tell you that the first times it happened I was mortified and didn’t know where I could stick my head to avoid getting all of the looks people had to give me. I remember pretending to be sick and going back to school after two days, but it never helped - I think it probably made it worse. You cry/throw up/pass out then go missing for a day, so of course when you come back people are gonna love talking about it. I learned the hard way to let go of the concept of shame and act naturally, as if everything that just happened is perfectly normal. People end up believing you. I still get some pitiful looks and people still gossip about me, I don’t think that will ever stop, but not being repulsed by it helps a lot. So I’d say you have a choice: you can either avoid an embarrassing situation altogether by not drinking at all, or you can pretend that being a mess doesn’t bother you as much as it actually does. I think you’re good at pretending you don’t care about things, but that doesn’t mean you should keep doing that. </p><p>Let yourself breathe a little. </p><p>And no, I don’t find you intimidating in the slightest - and I’m easily intimidated. There’s this regular at my job who’s kinda cute and I quiver just from looking at her, even though she’s always been nice to me. I’m not very good with people, but I forget that when I talk to you, and I could say the same about how can someone reach so deep inside of you to places you never even knew existed. I’m happy you feel that way about me because I feel the same about you. And I know you feel like you’re a mess, but I promise you you’re the prettiest mess I’ve ever come across and it never tires me to try and figure you out - it’s my favorite game because somehow I know I’m gonna win. Well, I know you’re gonna let me win. I’ll let you win at trying to figure me out too, don’t worry. There’s this quote from Wuthering Heights, you’ve probably read that for fun since you’re a words nerd, but when I had to do an assignment on it, this was the only sentence I could focus on: “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” I know it’s not actually that great of a quote because, you know, there’s the hint of incest, unhealthy codependency, and toxicity of the relationship between Heathcliff and Catherine, but that’s exactly why it reminds me of you. It’s nothing like that when I talk to you. Our souls must be made of completely different things, yet they call for each other anyway, like magnets, opposites attract. You say you’re a blur of feelings that are finally able to scream whenever you talk to me, but I am a bursting, shaky knot of panic and anxiety and fear that only ever shuts up when I think of you, or when I read your emails. Maybe even when I sing to you. </p><p>I do like existing with you. I’ve never had a friend like you before. </p><p>Yours, Dolly.</p><p>***</p><p>September 8th, 2015. Thursday, 06:17 a.m.</p><p>From: <a href="mailto:brightredsare@gmail.com"> brightredsare@gmail.com </a></p><p>To: <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com"> iqkitty@gmail.com </a></p><p>Subject: I definitely did not read Wuthering Heights for fun, I have *some* self-respect</p><p> </p><p>Dear Dolly,</p><p>I can’t believe you write beautiful shit like that then call ~me~ a words nerd. Is there anything you’re bad at, other than living in society? I don’t think there is, honestly. You’re unbelievable. </p><p>That and the fact that you are right about my drinking habits. If you feel like you’re always dragging me out of trouble, it’s because you are. I’ve only ever been to parties without drinking when I was, like, 14, which to me feels like decades ago. I can’t have fun if I’m not drunk. I mean, I can when I’m with M and G, but when there are lots of people like this… Not really. I shit on you for not being able to live in society properly, but I’m the same. I don’t know how much I’m willing to put myself through this kind of trauma without drinking, but let’s see how it goes, or even if it goes. Don’t you ever get tired of being always right?</p><p>I don’t think, though, that I’ll be going out for now. It doesn’t feel like the right thing to do because it’ll be my sister’s birthday pretty soon. It’ll be definitely weird to celebrate a birthday that doesn’t exist anymore. Fuck, am I allowed to say that? Is that how it even works? </p><p>She used to have these really nice birthday parties every year, and we invited only the people that we both really liked. No fuckboys, no bullies, and no fake friends. </p><p>She would be turning 18 this year. Can you imagine anything cooler than an 18th birthday party, other than a 21st birthday party? But yeah, she won’t have either. Because she’s dead. </p><p>It’s a shame. She really was the life of every party, always the one to tell the jokes and the first one up on the dancefloor, and if there wasn’t one, she’d make one up on the spot. Brooke always told the best party stories, made everyone crack up every time and now I don’t know how I’m going to pass these stories on because I can’t tell them as well as she could, I’m not even half as funny. She stayed up all night in heels with a smile on her face and woke up the next day feeling just fine, like instead of getting so tired from dancing and talking to everyone, it fueled up her energy even more. It was truly a sight to be seen, Brooke with her hair tied up in a messy, improvised bun, her lipstick faded and stamped on her cup, sweat brightening her forehead… It was beautiful to watch her when she wasn’t trying to keep it together, when she was just letting herself be and all of the flaws that came with it. My favorite part was always walking back home with her, we told each other what we did and saw and what made us laugh the most, always being too loud in the middle of the street and then taking our makeup off together and falling asleep in the same bedroom. Her bed is so big that sometimes I would literally just fall asleep horizontally at her feet and be woken up by her kicking my ribs in the morning. </p><p>Any time was a good time when she was with me. I miss her so much that I still feel like half of me is gone. </p><p>I think it’s funny to share memories like this with you, because since you’ve never met her I can mold her however I want and you’ll believe it. For all you know, none of this could be true and Brooke might just have been a huge bitch and I’m just twisting the events to make her seem like a decent person. Maybe I am doing that, but you’ll never know. That’s a thing we always do to dead people, right? We mold them to be the best versions of themselves in our eyes, as if our opinion of them ever even mattered. I’m terrified of forgetting Brooke for who she really was and replacing her with the perfect version of her I’ve made up in my head. Of course she had flaws, tons of them, but right now they’re what matter the least about her. I wouldn’t want her not to have any flaws, I’d just want her to be alive. Alive Brooke is perfect enough. </p><p>Sorry to dump all of that on you. Writing about my feelings helps me process them better, and though once I, just like you, would much rather be writing to a void, now I don’t feel that way anymore. I’m happy you get to peek inside of my head for a minute or two, but I still like it best when you peek inside of my heart. It’s almost like you belong there already. </p><p>But, anyway, I don’t know what will be of her birthday and I’m too scared to ask my parents about it. Should I google it? “How to celebrate a dead person’s birthday?” Some of her friends might come up with something, but I’m not sure I’m down to any kind of celebration at all this year. It’s too recent for me still.</p><p>I might just find myself drinking alone in my room… again. Oh well. </p><p>Love, Jodie.  </p><p>***</p><p>Date: September 8th, 2015. Thursday, 12:04 p.m.</p><p>From: <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com"> iqkitty@gmail.com </a></p><p>To: <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com"> brightredscare@gmail.com </a></p><p>Subject: What do you read for fun, then?</p><p> </p><p>Dear Jodie, </p><p>I’m happy to hear that you have such good memories of Brooke :) Nurturing them can be good for you, I think. I know it’s probably way too easy to make yourself sad when you think of her, but maybe focusing on the good moments could take some weight off your shoulders. </p><p>On the other hand, I’m a little worried about her birthday coming up. You shouldn’t let this moment affect how you’ve been talking to your parents! It’s their deceased child’s birthday and no parent should ever have to go through that. As much as she is also your sister and it hurts just as much, don’t forget that you and your parents need each other, especially now. Please don’t shut yourself out? I’m sure they would appreciate your company more than they already do. It’s not supposed to be easy, I think, but maybe in time it will get better. </p><p>What a feeling it must be. The first birthday she won’t be having. I’m so sorry.</p><p>Please don’t spend the day alone drinking in your room, or the night for the record! What day is it gonna be? If you don’t want to talk to your friends, I can keep emailing you back and forth so you’re not alone and just talk to you all day. I swear I don’t mind it, as long as it makes you feel better.</p><p>You belong in my heart too, and I want you to be okay. I’ll do whatever I can to help with that.</p><p>Yours, Dolly.</p><p>***</p><p>Date: September 8th, 2015. Thursday, 08:17 p.m.</p><p>From: <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com"> brightredscare@gmail.com </a></p><p>To: <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com"> iqkitty@gmail.com </a></p><p>Subject: For fun I read mostly Russian literature. I do try to read it in Russian, but it’s a little difficult sometimes. I do enjoy some light YA every once in a while, but if you tell anyone I’ll murder you. </p><p> </p><p>Dear Dolly, </p><p>You are so sweet you make my teeth rot. Luckily, rotten teeth are a good look on me, so I don’t mind it. </p><p>I don’t wanna bother you. I know you’re going to say it’s not a bother and I shouldn’t worry about it, but I know it’s a bother. I wouldn’t want to be stuck talking to myself for an entire day… I mean, I’ve been doing that for almost 17 years, but it’s beyond the point. What I mean is that you really do not need to take any of the weight that I’m carrying. It’s not your responsibility to make me feel better, even though you keep doing it all the time. I don’t want you to feel the pressure of death cracking your spine like it cracks mine. You already have enough going on for yourself.</p><p>And if you feel bad for me, I will kick your ass. </p><p>Plus, I think, once again, that you’re right. I should spend some time with my family. The day we went through Brooke’s stuff was actually such a nice moment to have with them, I wonder if it’s going to feel the same when her birthday comes. Probably not, but a girl can dream. Both mom and dad want me to believe that they’re strong enough to deal with everything so I can feel better about it, but I think now I might need to be strong for them too. We might go to the cemetery, hang there for a while, take some flowers and some candles. Hopefully we won’t set anything on fire, but it’s a possibility. </p><p>I never gave her flowers before. Even though she loved the smell, I don’t think Brooke liked flowers very much because they need to be taken care of and I guess she already spent all of her time taking care of me. It feels wrong for me to just go there and leave a bouquet of whatever on her tombstone, she’s probably going to come back and pull my feet at night if I do that. Did you know that the Jewish leave little pebbles and stones on the graves of their loved ones? Flowers die, but stones don’t. It’s a symbol of permanence in their memories. And it’s not just any rock, sometimes they take them from places where their loved ones liked to go, or they find the prettiest, most interesting ones on the ground and pick them up. I wonder if it would be disrespectful of me to find some stones for Brooke. It’s not very punk rock to disrespect other people’s religion, unless they’re christians. I could easily step on a christian’s face and break their nose. Fuck Jesus. </p><p>But, yeah, I keep talking about rocks as if it makes a difference for her, but it doesn’t. It makes a difference to me because then at least I know that I’m… I don’t know. Still there for her somehow, wherever “there” is. I wish there was a way I could let her know that I still care about her, that I haven’t given up on her. That I will love her forever. And that it hurts not having her with me, it hurts really fucking bad. I can’t even imagine what her birthday is going to be like when she’s not here, when she’s supposed to be the whole point of everything. </p><p>We used to love exchanging birthday and Christmas gifts, it was our thing. Sometimes they were meaningful, but mostly they were just silly. Last year, I gave her a picture of Alex from Target, but it was her face instead of his and she was bagging all of her qualities and my birthday wishes for her. She had it glued to her binder. </p><p>I wish I could give her something, anything other than flowers or rocks. More than anything, I’d like to give her a hug, just one. I’m not used to the idea that I gave her the last hug without knowing it would be the last. That fucks me up. </p><p>Love, Jodie.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Here you are, you son of a bitch,” she mimics Dela in a whisper as the pads of her fingers finally feel the cold back of an old, raggedy notebook. She whips out a pen along with it and shakes it as she tries to find an empty page, to make sure the ink will come out. After a few pages of doodles, poems, and scribbly words that might remind people of song lyrics if they pay enough attention, she sticks her tongue out of her mouth as she focuses on balancing the thin notebook on her jiggly thigh as she writes down the title of her idea. </p><p>Little Sister, it says. For Jodie, she adds under it, in the tiniest handwriting.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! Things have been crazy, but I'm here once again, bringing the teenage gay angst you never knew you needed! Ugh, uni has been really taking its toll on me, and sometimes I think about posting all of the papers I'm doing instead of posting the actual chapters lmao. Anyway, thank you to my girls <a href="http://zamo-95.tumblr.com/">Zamo-95</a> and <a href="http://fedu31.tumblr.com/">Fedu</a> for being there for me and helping me out, not only with this chapter, but with the messy mess that is my life in general! Lesbians have, once again, led me to true friendship!! And thank you so, so much to all of you reading it! I hope you enjoy it!! &lt;33</p><p>(I did make myself cry while writing this chapter, but I'm no measure for anything so I'm just going to go with mildly sad once again! And the sad part is not very long!!)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em> September 9th, 2015. Friday, 09:30 a.m. </em> </p><p> </p><p>As out of her nature as it may seem, Trixie is not interested in Algebra today. </p><p>Her brain keeps running laps around Jodie’s emails with all of those beautiful words she writes for her, but mostly she thinks about what she said last about wishing she could give Brooke a gift. </p><p>The idea is haunting. You love someone to the moon and back, but you’ll never get to give them a birthday gift again. A shiver runs down her spine and though God means so little to her, she almost gives in to her urge of making the sign of the cross, but only shakes her head instead. The whole class is silent. They’re supposed to be doing exercises, but Trixie sits with an empty look on her face and her pencil resting in her mouth. </p><p>Jodie is right, to some extent. This isn’t her problem, she already has enough weight on her shoulders and she doesn’t need to involve herself emotionally in the loss of this family any further, but it feels so wrong not to. What can you gift a dead person other than rocks and flowers? Trixie sighs and lowers her head. No rocks, no flowers. Most importantly, what would Brooke want to be given and how could she ever make it meaningful?</p><p><em> It’s stupid </em> , she thinks. <em> I never met this girl and she’s dead. Why am I making such an effort to make her birthday special? </em>Trixie rolls her eyes at herself. She knows why, but she likes to play dumb. She wonders if other people would go as far as trying to come up with a gift for the dead sister of the girl they’re trying to impress or if this is a lesbian thing. Maybe not even that, maybe it’s just a Trixie thing. She shouldn’t do it, it might be too much. </p><p>But then again… It would be a nice thing to do, wouldn’t it? Whether Jodie is impressed by that or not it doesn’t even matter as much, as long as Trixie helps her have a good time on Brooke’s birthday… Right? She should do it, just for the sake of it, for the sake of what it means. She should do it because she wants Jodie to be happy more than anything, even more than she wants to be liked back. </p><p>May Dela never hear of this. </p><p>The bell rings, bringing Trixie out of her trance with a scare. Dela is already waiting for her at the door when she finishes packing her things into her backpack and smiles a hello, but then immediately knots her eyebrows together.</p><p>“What’s wrong?”</p><p>Trixie wishes that she wasn’t as readable as a children’s book, but Dela would probably read her just as well if she were an excerpt from Shakespeare written in Chinese. “Nothing,” she shrugs, walking next to her friend towards their lockers.</p><p>Dela shakes her head. “We’re not going there again, but that was a nice try.”</p><p>Trixie can’t fight back her smile. “Fine, sorry. It’s, um… It’s Jodie.”</p><p>Her friend stops in her tracks. “Did she do anything to you?” </p><p>“No, no,” Trixie continues walking and Dela catches up. “We’re fine, but I… It’s her sister’s birthday soon.”</p><p>“And?”</p><p>“And,” Trixie sighs, “her sister passed away this summer.”</p><p>“Oh. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Me too. But the thing is Jodie said she wishes she could give something to her and I can’t get that out of my head. Like, I wanna do something about it.”</p><p>They stop in front of Dela’s locker and she drops her black bag on the floor before opening it. “That’s nice of you. Maybe a little too nice.” She immediately bends down to stare into the locker, looking for something.</p><p>“Shut up, I was moved by it, that’s all. She talks about her sister a lot, it almost feels like I knew her personally.”</p><p>“How’d she die?”</p><p>“Um… She killed herself.”</p><p>Dela gets her head out of her locker and stares at Trixie. “That’s some heavy shit.” </p><p>“I know. It’s been really, really tough for her this year.”</p><p>“I can’t even imagine what it must feel like… Here you are, you son of a bitch!” Dela pulls out a water bottle. “Check this out,” she brings it closer to Trixie’s eyes. Instead of the nutritional information, there are a bunch of historical facts written on the label. </p><p>“You really do let your smarts make up for your lack of intelligence,” Trixie snorts.</p><p>“Thank you… I think.”  They laugh. “I’ll be stuck in my History test until lunch, but you can text me if you need anything, okay?”</p><p>Trixie nods. “I’ll be in Physics. We’ve been talking about stars lately and how the sun is supposed to swallow the Earth in a few million years.”</p><p>“Could be today for all I care, then I wouldn’t have to take this fucking test,” Dela grunts and Trixie rolls her eyes. The bell rings a little too loudly and she flinches at the sound, but when she separates from her friend and makes her way into the classroom, she’s already thinking about stars. Well, one specific star.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> September 10th, 2015. Saturday, 12:35 a.m. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It comes to her when she’s on the brink of sleep, having trippy thoughts that aren’t dreams yet, but that are definitely not too conscious either. Trixie’s eyes shoot open and, sitting up like a robot, she turns on the lamp beside her bed that does little to nothing to provide actual illumination, but opens her bedside table drawer and scavenges through it anyway.</p><p>“Here you are, you son of a bitch,” she mimics Dela in a whisper as the pads of her fingers finally feel the cold back of an old, raggedy notebook. She whips out a pen along with it and shakes it as she tries to find an empty page, to make sure the ink will come out. After a few pages of doodles, poems, and scribbly words that might remind people of song lyrics if they pay enough attention, she sticks her tongue out of her mouth as she focuses on balancing the thin notebook on her jiggly thigh as she writes down the title of her idea. </p><p><em> Little Sister, </em> it says. <em> For Jodie </em>, she adds under it, in the tiniest handwriting. </p><p>She only manages to fall asleep after she has enough lines to know where to continue from the next morning. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> September 11th, 2015. Sunday, 02:22 a.m. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I’m writing a song,” Trixie confesses after sipping some rum and coke, sitting cross-legged on the couch. Her head is already a little buzzy and she’s fighting the feeling of wanting to slap her own face to check if her skin is still sensitive to touch, though she has a feeling that it isn’t. Dela, who’s laying down on her living room floor with the remote in hand, mutes the TV and turns to her. “For Jodie.”</p><p>Dela sits up, turning her back on the TV. All of the little bats on her pajama pants stare at Trixie with their fangs out. “You’re doing what?”</p><p>“I thought… Jodie wanted a birthday gift for her sister and I can’t really help with that because I didn’t even know her, but I can do <em> something </em>.” Trixie shrugs. “I’m sure Jodie’s sister would want her to be happy… right?” Dela nods. “The least I can do is to make sure that happens.”</p><p>Sipping her own drink, Dela shakes her head. “You are so in love with this girl it’s almost painful to watch.”</p><p>Trixie’s head stops spinning for a moment only to spin more furiously at the statement. “I’m not in love with her, what the fuck.”</p><p>“When you’re not talking to her, you’re thinking about her. You write page long emails to her just to say how much you appreciate her existence. You’re writing her a fucking song.” Dela raises her eyebrows. “I don’t remember you doing half of that for me.”</p><p>“You have a point,” Trixie squints at her friend. “A stupid point, but a point.”</p><p>“I’m always right, you know that. And you are not very good at playing it cool, sorry to burst your bubble.”</p><p>“There never even was a bubble, was it?” Dela shakes her head and Trixie exhales heavily through her nose. “I’m well aware that you know me like the back of your hand, I just don’t like acknowledging it.” </p><p>“You don’t have to be ashamed of it, though. I tell you about my crushes and whatnot all the time, there’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to do the same.”</p><p>“You’re right. I kinda have a crush on her. I, um, actually… It’s not just her.” Trixie’s face grows red as Dela howls like a manic wolf. </p><p>“Why have you been keeping all of this boiling tea from me? Who is it?”</p><p>“There’s this girl who’s a regular at the movie theater…”</p><p>“Fuck off, in <em> real life </em>? Tell me everything!”</p><p>Trixie giggles a little too loudly. “It’s no biggie, really… She’s like… This punk-ish girl, usually nice, a little weird sometimes too, just to balance it out… Shorter than me, but very well-built, strong face features and she always wears this bracelet made of teeth,” Trixie frowns. “I wonder if they’re real, actually…” </p><p>“She sounds hot,” Dela sips her drink and smiles.</p><p>“She is hot. Really hot. I just, ugh!” Trixie hides her face behind her hands. “I’m so awkward around her! Last time I saw her I was trying to figure out if she likes girls too and all I could ask her was if she liked The Runaways movie.”</p><p>“Oh my God! Did you?” Trixie nods fiercely, eyes shut tightly in an attempt to avoid having to watch the scene replay in her head. “That’s… Oh my God! I can’t believe you did this, girl… That’s, like, too much! You’re crazy!” Dela shakes her head. “But um… what does it mean?”</p><p>Trixie’s eyes snap open and they stare at each other for a second before they fall into a fit of laughter. “There’s lesbian stuff in the movie, it’s a made-up code to figure out if she likes girls or not!” She immediately covers her mouth with both hands after realizing how loud she said that and hopes her mother is already fast asleep upstairs. </p><p>“Well, does she?” Dela questions. Trixie nods. “Then why is it bad?”</p><p>“Because now I’m supposed to do something about it! Do I look like a top to you at all?”</p><p>“I’m not sure what a top is, but it doesn’t seem like top attitude to back down like this!”</p><p>“What else am I supposed to do? I’ll just wait until something happens, I don’t know!”</p><p>“I say <em> you </em>do something! What’s the worst that could happen?” Dela places her hands on her waist. “Be brave, Trixie! You’ll have to get at least one of these girls!”</p><p>“It’s not that simple!” Trixie whines. “Talking to Jodie is always easy, but it feels distant and unreal, like it’s not concrete. Like it’s all in my head. On the other hand, Katya is so real it’s scary. She’s right there in front of me, daring me to… I don’t know. To exist? To face her and myself? It’s difficult, especially when I’m having a bad day.”</p><p>Dela’s hand reaches out to tap Trixie on the knee. “I’m sorry you feel that way. If it makes it any better, crushes are always kinda scary when you have to face them, but I understand why you feel the way you feel about it. It’s something new for you, plus you’re a lesbian. It’s… challenging. It will always be challenging, you just need to learn how to deal with that.”</p><p>“I feel like I have to choose one, you know? I’ll either crush on Jodie or on Katya, but I can’t do both.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“It doesn’t feel right and it’s a bit much for me, I think. Such different people and different realities. I need to pick one.” Trixie sighs. “I have to choose between a distant idea that reads into the deepest parts of my brain and lets me do the same to her or a tangible person who’s within my reach but holds back so much of herself. I see Katya in front of me, but… what do I see? What’s behind her red lipstick and teeth bracelet?”</p><p>Dela nods, drumming her fingers on Trixie’s knee. “I see your point, I do, but hear me out…”</p><p>“Here we go,” Trixie mutters. Dela slaps her knee.</p><p>“Okay, listen: you’re not sixteen forever! Why don’t you just enjoy your moment and let things be?”</p><p>“What is that even supposed to mean?”</p><p>“It means that I think you shouldn’t have to pick one girl. Let things happen and see how it goes.” Dela shrugs. “You’re always complaining about how boring life is here in Leegreat Haven, and now that something new and exciting and unexpected is happening you want out? No way, Jose.” Trixie rolls her eyes, letting her head fall back against the couch. “Have some fun with it.”</p><p>“I don’t want to have fun, I want to make good choices,” Trixie grunts.</p><p>“Look at it this way, you nerd: it’s like when you have to learn a new subject. You know nothing about it until you read a little, then you do some exercises, take a quiz or two… It’s just math, but very intense.”</p><p>“Ha!” Trixie scoffs. “If this was anything like math I would’ve figured it out in a heartbeat!”</p><p>“Try being a normal human being and not knowing everything for once, please,” Dela reaches for her drink. “For someone who likes learning so much, you don’t seem very eager to do so now. You’re so intelligent that you’re not letting yourself be smart.”</p><p>“Touché” Trixie admits and reaches for her own drink. They bump their cups together in a toast. “What do I do now that you’re the smart one?”</p><p>“Get yourself a girlfriend and I’ll give you your spot back.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> September 12th, 2015. Monday, 06:56 p.m. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“You look cute today,” Shangie comments, as casually as ever. “But I’ll pretend I don’t know why you’ve done that to your face for the sake of your dignity.”</p><p>Trixie’s head flies up from her little notebook. She pushes it to the side but keeps her hand over the lyrics she’s been writing - she’s still trying to figure out how to make “tell me, if you’ve only lived here did you really ever live at all?” fit into the rhythm she’s been sketching out. Her curls are tamer than usual, resting over her shoulders and chest and bouncing every time she moves, but her face is the furthest away from tame as possible. See, Trixie likes makeup. She’s not very good at it, but she definitely has her fun. Today, she allowed herself to spend forty-minutes applying generous layers of glittery pink eyeshadow, waterproof mascara, and blush to pair with the bright pink lipstick she “borrowed” from her mom a few months ago but that is still tucked deep inside one of her drawers. </p><p>Normally, Trixie would have thought twice before taking Dela’s advice, considering her carefree and wild nature, but this time she knows her friend is right. She won’t be sixteen ever again and she has nothing to lose other than her inexperience and naïvety. </p><p>She would blush if her cheeks weren’t already the reddest they could be.</p><p>“What? I felt like dressing up.”</p><p>“Yeah, I wonder why…” Shangie wiggles her eyebrows.</p><p>“Shut up,” Trixie hisses, shaking her head and lowering her gaze down to her notebook again. She exhales heavily, tapping her pencil on the notebook while holding it between her fingers, brows knit together. <em> Tell me, if you only lived here did you really ever live at all </em> , she sings in her own head, humming low along with it. There’s something missing, she needs another rhyme. <em> Tell me, tanan -eer </em>, she repeats to herself. Maybe something for here? On the lower corner, she writes a list: tear, fear, dear, and clear. </p><p><em> Tell me with no tears, if you only lived here did you really ever live at all? </em> ... No. Not good. <em> Tell me without fear, if you only lived here did you really ever live at all? </em> Meh. Doesn’t fit in the rhythm very well. <em> Tell me, my dear </em> … Her eyebrows rise. <em> We’re getting somewhere. My dear, my dear… </em> It doesn’t feel right but she doesn’t want to give up the word “dear”. She huffs, resting her chin on her hand, elbow firm on the counter.</p><p>At the same instant, the door swings open. Trixie’s stomach grows cold immediately only from the sound, and when she looks up it freezes completely. </p><p>A quiet thought roams in the back of her mind, wishing to know if Jodie looks as good as Katya, because Katya looks really fucking good. The girl is exchanging a few words with Shangie as she buys her ticket and Trixie’s eyes watch her too carefully. Her hair is parted in two pigtails that brush her shoulders in soft, frizzy waves, and they don’t match her outfit at all, which consists of baggy black pants, heavy combat boots, and a bomber jacket over that. Today her eye makeup is a little heavier than usual, black smeared all over her lids, but her matte red lips seem to have been closely calculated. </p><p>Watching the reason why she has so much color on her face walk in her direction is probably the hardest thing she’s done today. </p><p>“Hi,” she offers, a little too early. Katya stops in front of the counter.</p><p>“Hi.” Silence. Trixie can hear Shangie’s eyes roll. “I’ll, uh… the usual.”</p><p>“Medium with extra butter,” Trixie says Katya nods. Even though her face is as pale as ever, the redness on her cheeks makes her look more alive. “And here you are,” Trixie places it on the counter.</p><p>“Thanks,” Katya pushes some change towards her. In an exhale, she lets out: “Youlookreallyprettytodayit’sverypink.”</p><p>Trixie pinkens harder. “Um, thank you. I think.”</p><p>“Don’t mention it,” Katya fiddles with her hair. Trixie wonders in which pocket of her jacket she’s keeping her everyday grunge energy. “I never liked pink very much.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>Katya’s eyes widen. “But I mean, it’s your color. It was made for you. You look good in it. The hair and, you know, the face. Your face looks good.”</p><p>Trixie nods with the approach of a shy smile on her lips. “Thanks.” She can barely make sense of the words Katya is saying to her and her head runs around in circles trying to figure out what to say next. “Have you,” she fights a snicker, “watched The Runaways recently?”</p><p>Katya doesn’t hold her laughter back. “No, I haven’t actually. I don’t have anyone that I can… Well. No one I can watch it with.”</p><p>“I don’t either,” Trixie comments, looking down at her own hands to avoid the girl’s eyes. </p><p>“That’s great,” Katya responds with a smirk that dies down in slow motion as soon as she seems to realize what she’s said. Trixie looks back up at her with half a frown on her face. “That’s not… I don’t mean it like…” She sighs. “I’ll just get my popcorn and go. Sorry.” In one swift motion, she grabs the popcorn and takes a few steps towards the screening room.</p><p>“It’s okay. You’re good.” Trixie gets her to turn around. “One day we’ll be better at… This.”</p><p>“You have too much faith in <em> this </em>.”</p><p>“Don’t you?”</p><p>Katya purses her lips in a smile. “I’ll answer that after you watch The Runaways with me.”</p><p>“Deal.”</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em> September 18th, 2015. Friday, 08:17 a.m. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Katya has only ever had one morning as silent as this one and she would very much like to forget the emptiness that comes with it. </p><p>As soon as she opened her eyes, she already recognized the heaviness in her chest feeling brand new, as if it had ever left. The reminder on her phone set off a little happy melody to remind her what day it was and though she set it every year, she knew she never needed it. Especially not this year. </p><p>“Happy birthday, Brooke,” she whispered at the picture of them that stares down at her from across the room. She doesn’t wipe the first tear the rolls down to the side of her face.</p><p>Breakfast was a little more dreadful than usual. Her mother didn’t say a word and her father left for work earlier than he needed to. <em> Coward </em> , Katya thought when he stood up from the table. <em> As if this day won’t haunt him when he’s by himself too </em>. She pretended not to see her Irina cry by the sink and wished that just for one moment she could be braver than her dad and comfort her, like Dolly had encouraged her to do so many times, saying again and again that they need to stick together in times of sorrow, but the only thing harder than feeling pain is sharing it, letting it be known. </p><p>Even the car ride with Gigi and Monét is silent. When they arrive at school, Katya doesn’t do a double-take at the wooden entrance as she would’ve in any other day. School doesn’t seem so scary when you are reminded that your biggest fear has come true. Gigi takes her inside while holding her arm with the softness only those who know the coldness of loss are able to share with the world. Gig lost an uncle a couple of years ago and Katya recognizes all the efforts she made when her family lost Brooke, but she pushed her friend away anyway. </p><p>“Do you need help with your stuff, Kat?” Monét offers as they reach her locker. Katya shakes her head without blinking. “We have class in, like, ten minutes… Should we get going?”</p><p>She doesn’t even register what her friend says, staring blankly ahead. Brooke would have been eighteen today and now she is nothing. The voices around her morph together as she tries to keep her breathing steady, but as she watches the people pass by she can’t help but picture what her sister’s day would have been like today. Maybe her friends would have gotten her a cake with pink or purple icing and colorful sprinkles on top and then thrown it right on her face during lunch. Maybe their parents would have gotten her new ballet shoes or a sweatshirt from her goal university. Maybe the two of them would have stayed up until two in the morning talking about all the strategic places in which she could get a tattoo without their parents noticing. </p><p>“Katya?”</p><p>She snaps out of it and turns her head to find Shea and Blair standing behind her. “Hi.”</p><p>“There’s something we want you to have,” Shea continues. Blair’s eyes are already red and watery. Out of her backpack, she pulls a little red box. “We always talked about getting these by the end of senior year, but…”</p><p>“Yeah. She didn’t make it,” Katya purses her lips. Shea hands her the box as Blair starts sniffing. “Can I…?”</p><p>“Of course,” Shea says. Opening the box, she finds a silver bracelet inside, which she inspects closer by holding the little pendant. It is shaped like a heart and has the initials BBS engraved on it. Katya looks up to find her sister’s friends holding their arms out, wearing identical copies. “They match. So we would always be together, even if we separated.”</p><p>“Thank you, girls. It’s beautiful.” At this point, Blair is already having to use the sleeves of her uniform sweater to dry the tears on her cheeks. “I’m sure she would have loved it.”</p><p>“It’s, uh… Very symbolic. But we hope it’s enough.”</p><p>Gigi’s hands rest over her own chest while Monét hugs Katya over her shoulder. “It’s more than enough. I’ll…” Katya’s voice fails and she clears her throat. “I’ll put it in her room as soon as I get home. Thank you.” </p><p>Without asking, Shea envelopes Katya in a tight hug. “I’m sorry. I wish she was here.” When the hug breaks, Katya takes a step back.</p><p>“Thank you, I… Excuse me, I need to…” She sighs and hands the box to Monét, who looks at her with a confused expression. Her vision it’s starting to get mildly blurry from the tears she refuses to let go and her breathing has become uneasy again. “Sorry, I…” Katya says before taking a few steps away from her friends. She sprints to the nearest restroom and locks herself in the first stall, ignoring the girl who’s washing her hands.</p><p>Katya sits with her back against the vandalized wall and hugs her knees, hyperventilating. Though the air comes in and out of her mouth, she feels as if it is full of sand. Her heart beats so fast it hurts her chest and she feels it echoing down her ribcage, afraid it will break her bones. She can’t fight the tears anymore and lets them wet her face as she sobs.</p><p>“I can’t do this,” she whispers to herself. “I can’t.” </p><p>Her stomach fills up with enough acid to deteriorate itself. Katya moves her hands down, crossing them in front of her torso, feeling the reflux reach its peak when it hits the back of her throat. With lips still parted open, she gags and gasps and coughs, eyes stinging from the wetness. </p><p>“Kat?” Someone knocks on the stall door. “It’s us.”</p><p>“W-who?”</p><p>“It’s Monét and Gigi,” they repeat. Whoever’s voice is that it echoes way too lowly for Katya to make out which one of them is talking. “Can you unlock the door, please?”</p><p>She looks up at the little metal lock and puts her arm up, stretching her fingers as far as she can, but doesn’t manage to reach it. Trying one more time, she makes enough effort that her back is no longer against the wall, but fails again. Katya inhales through her mouth, making a loud noise, knowing she’ll probably have to try to stand up. The tears have rolled down her face and wet her white uniform shirt and she feels hot enough to feel the need to remove her blazer, but at the same time, her movements feel limited by invisible walls that surround her in the already tiny stall. She stretches her fingers open and closes them several times at her knees, trying to find enough courage to move her legs, but they shake so badly she knows she’ll just fall back down.</p><p>“I can’t,” she whimpers. </p><p>“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” Gigi. It’s Gigi. “Can you slide your hand under the door?”</p><p>Slowly, she does so. Gigi places her the back of her hand on the floor and leaves the palm up, waiting for Katya. Her touch is gentle enough not to startle her but real enough that it grounds her just a little bit. Monét places her own hand on Katya’s, and though the warmth is comforting, all she wants is to cry more and more. </p><p>“We’re here,” Monét says. “We’ll stay.”</p><p>That’s all Brooke couldn’t do. </p><p>After doing a few repetitions of the breathing exercises Mrs. Michaels taught her, Katya finally manages to stand up and walk out of the stall, where her friends meet her with the warmest of all hugs. They wipe her face with the rough paper towels that are supposed to dry your hands and fix her clothing so it doesn’t look like it has snoot, drool, and tears all over it. Katya convinces them she will be fine and that she can walk to class on her own, but when Monét hands her the little red box that is to blame for all of this, her throat ties into a string of tight knots. </p><p>“I can’t do this,” she repeats. “I… I need to go. I don’t wanna stay here.”</p><p>With understanding tears starting to flood their own eyes, her friends escort her out of the building, offering to follow her home and stay there with her, but Katya doesn’t accept their offers.</p><p>Why does it feel like she has no choice other than being lonely?</p><p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I think I need you right now. <br/>Love, Jodie.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello guys! Short chapter this week, wonder what might come up next.... *eyes emoji*<br/>Thanks to my girls <a href="http://zamo-95.tumblr.com/">Zamo-95</a> and <a href="http://fedu31.tumblr.com/">Fedu</a> for being there for me through the craziness of a 30 chapter fic! Las amo &lt;3 Thanks for our little editing/posting night parties!! And thank you all for reading this, sapphics of my heart &lt;3 I hope you're enjoying the story &lt;3<br/>Feel free to come talk to me on <a href="http://galaxybrunost505.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Date: September 18th, 2015. Friday, 11:57 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject:</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hi. I don’t even know what to say or how to say it, but I really hope you’re there. It’s not that urgent, it’s not that big of a deal, but I need someone right now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I think I need you right now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Love, Jodie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Date: September 19th, 2015. Saturday, 12:00 a.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: What’s going on???</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Call me</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>202-555-0188</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yours, Dolly.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Why did you want me to come outside with you? Is it something you and your sister used to do, lie down in the middle of the street at night and watch the stars?”</p>
<p>“Not really,” Jodie answers. She sighs. “I’ve only ever done this once before, and I was alone. I… I guess it’s more of a you and me thing.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey gals &lt;3 Here is chapter 14! This one is my favorite so far, but it was the most challenging one to write! Sorry it took me so long, but as soon as I get through my finals I expect to be able to post more often &lt;3 Thank you to mis hermanas <a href="http://zamo-95.tumblr.com/">Zamo-95</a> and <a href="http://fedu31.tumblr.com/">Fedu</a> for all the help they've given me with this chapter, even though I've been hatefully labeled as a nerd hahahaha. Hope you guys enjoy it and if you need anything, you know <a href="http://galaxybrunost505.tumblr.com/">where to find me</a>! Thanks for everything &lt;3</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This one doesn't get a big sad warning because it's mostly fluff, but it gets a little sad!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>September 19th, 2015. Friday, 12:05 a.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bzz. Bzz. Bzz</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie holds her phone in both her hands, staring at it. The buzzing insists. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thinks, as it dawns on her how terrible of an idea this was. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit, shit, shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The numbers on the screen seem to become blurrier by the second, but she forces herself to focus her eyes on them again. She drowns in the probabilities drifting around in her brain before reminding herself that if she doesn’t answer the phone, the call will go to voicemail. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Answering phones ranks hysterically low on Trixie’s list of favorite things to do. It’s scary because she never knows what is going to be there, waiting for her on the other side of the line. She has saved the number of every hospital in the region, just to make sure she’s prepared for the worst, but this… This one is specifically scary because she already knows what she is about to face on the other end, and she’s not sure she’s going to know how to deal with it. It feels too real and there is nothing she fears more than the reality of her own life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She knows what she has to do but her hands are frozen, not a finger moves out of place. The fear is paralyzing all of her brain cells and muscles and bones. Trixie blinks slowly, exhaling. She won’t answer it. She won’t know what to say, she’ll ruin the friendship that they already have. But then maybe Jodie will be hurt over it, after all, Trixie is the one who said she could call and then backed away like the little chicken that she is. She either ruins it by giving in to her fear or by ignoring it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A stupid thought crosses her mind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Being afraid has ruined too many good things for me. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She presses the green button.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a moment, the only thing she hears is quiet sniffing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello?” she offers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re here.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie’s room is dimly lit by her bedside lamp, which is a little too yellow for her liking, but the sudden glow in her eyes could be seen from outer fucking space. The thought of Jodie having a voice has never been as absurd as the thought of actually hearing her voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am, of course. You said you needed me and I believed you,” Trixie chuckles. She hopes it will make Jodie crack a smile open as well, but the sniffing persists. Her heart is beating a million times a minute and she tries to keep track of her thoughts, but she is immersed in the idea of Jodie, Jodie, Jodie. Jodie is right here with her and suddenly reality doesn’t seem scary anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called, especially not this late… I’ll hang up. You probably want to go to bed.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, Jodie…” Using her name like this feels like lightning striking against her lips. “I’ll stay.” She hears a sob. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to stay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s fine, you can go.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie’s heart cracks. “I’ll only go if you tell me why you needed me.” Silence. She swallows dry. “I-it’s today, isn’t it? Her birthday?” Hair ruffles against the phone in what Trixie imagines is a nod. “I’m sorry.” On the line, Jodie sobs. “Do you want to talk about your day?” Another ruffling sound is heard. Trixie sits up on her bed, forcing the sleep out of her eyes. Jodie talks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, what a feeling it is to hear her talk. She tells Trixie about Brooke’s friends and the gift, tells her about being locked in a stall in the bathroom, and talks about the way her friends held her hand and stayed. Her voice is hoarse and it breaks a lot from the crying, but there’s something about it that Trixie can’t quite put a finger on. It’s easy to tell she’s been crying all day, considering how fragile she sounds. Her throat seems to have been treated poorly today, and it feels almost like Jodie is making a little too much effort to be able to speak clearly enough that Trixie will understand her, but, Trixie assumes, low enough so that she won’t wake anyone up. Imagine crying until you lose your voice. Must have been a real bitch of a day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still… It’s almost like she’s heard her talk before, like she already knows the way her mouth molds the air into sounds in the way that she does. Her Rs are funny, a little dragged out, but it’s barely noticeable. It’s probably just her worn-out throat. For a good minute or two Trixie tries to match this voice with a face, any face she might have already seen, but it ultimately dawns on her how unimportant and selfish that is right now. Trixie realizes it probably hurts like hell to keep talking on and on like that. On any other day, she’d maybe spare a few more seconds to the figuring out of how can a voice be so familiar even though it’s never been heard before, but at this moment… Her heart skips a beat. At this very moment, there is something else she can do for Jodie other than trying to figure out what her face looks like. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have something for you.” Trixie interrupts. “For her.” Jodie stops talking, not seeming to mind being cut off so abruptly. “I mean, you said you wanted to be able to give her a gift and I couldn’t get that out of my head, but I didn’t get to know Brooke… So it’s kinda made for you, but about her. For now, at least. It’s not finished.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Not finished? What is it, one of those ceramic pots like they make in Ghost?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jodie sniffs, but a chuckle comes out. Trixie’s on the right path. She lets out a stream of air out of her nose, unable to produce a decent giggle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh… It’s actually a song.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya’s heart stops and stays still. Even though her back is pressed firmly against her wall, she loses balance for a second while replaying the words in her head. She can almost feel the clouds pass her by as she falls from the sky right back onto her bed like when you wake up from a dream in which you’re falling, her messy sheets right where she had left them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You wrote me a song about my dead sister?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Do you hate it?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dolly asks. The way she rounds her Os rubs a question mark behind her ear. She has to know someone with the same thick Winsconsin accent, but no names come to her head. She had already had this feeling before, when Dolly sent her the file singing Landslide, but it still unsettles her how difficult her voice is to figure out. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s stupid, I shouldn’t have said anything about it.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? No, I…” She coughs. Her vocal cords are on fire. “I know how much music means to you, and that you don’t like to share…” She drags her finger under her eyes to dry the tears that have started stinging. “So thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It probably sucks.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I won’t know unless you sing it to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dolly sets her phone on speaker, which allows Katya to hear her shuffling with what she imagines are bed covers, steps on a wooden floor, and then chords. With a “humpf”, Dolly seems to be back in bed with her guitar in hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“My mom is going to kill me,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she says. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“And again, it’s not finished. I only have the chorus and a little after that. The beginning is what gets me, though. I don’t have that yet.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s enough for me. It’s more than enough already.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Okay… Also, I've already said this before but I didn’t get to know Brooke so it was difficult coming up with a gift for her, but I think I know one thing she would have wanted more than anything.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, and… what is that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“She’d want you to be happy. It’s what I’m trying to do.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck off. Fuck right off,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Katya thinks. The darkness of her bedroom becomes blurrier with tears. “Sing it to me. Please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Here it goes…”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dolly fiddles with the chords for a bit. It sounds melodic and awfully country, which would put it straight into the hideous category. Katya loves it already. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Tell me, little dear, if you’ve only lived here did you really ever live at all?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>She sings in a whisper, probably barely even touching her guitar. Her voice sounds exactly like chocolate melting in your mouth in the summer, it infests Katya’s tongue with excessive sweetness, but she doesn’t mind. Even though she’s always been more of the savory type, she wants to hear Dolly sing like this, low, just for her, until her teeth rot and fall out. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“‘Cause you’d be amazed in the summer how the days of the spring turn into fall… Just listen to your sister, you can run in the cover of the night sky when it falls… I know that you think that you’re growing, but you’re just tall.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya’s heart falls to the pit of her stomach. She smells Brooke’s perfume in her room and her eyes are wet enough to drown all of her emotions. A small sob escapes from her lips, her throat aches and burns again, exhausted from all of the crying that has been done today already. She tries to swallow but almost chokes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“A really pretty girl in a really small town, ta na na na na na, and she never settles down…”</span>
  </em>
  <span> The ringing of the chords stops. Dolly clears her throat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I still have to fix this and, like, finish it of course. D-did you like it?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Katya lets out another sob.</span>
  <em>
    <span>“Shit, is it that bad?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her weep turns into a laugh halfway through. “Shut up,” she smiles, wiping her tears and sniffing. “I don’t even fucking know what to say. Thank you. I…” Katya takes a deep breath in. “That is positively the best gift you could have come up with.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I know you hate it and you’re just trying to be nice, but I’ll take it,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dolly says, and for some reason, Katya can picture her smile. Given her accent, she wouldn’t be surprised if it was slightly yellow or crooked, but she wouldn’t mind it either. Anything as long as she’s smiling. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks to the side, where her open window lets the cool September breeze in. An idea grows in her brain, and it’s a stupid idea. All of the crying has already been cruel to her throat, and this will only make it worse, but the stars look so beautiful tonight. They’re shining brighter than usual. They know everything she doesn’t know yet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just had a really stupid idea,” she announces. “And I’ll be profoundly hurt if you don’t take part in it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie’s street is narrow and the asphalt is uneven, so finding a spot where she can lie down presents itself as a challenge. There are no street lights near her house and the tall bushes around her are almost threatening, but as soon as her back rests against the cold street she forgets they’re there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was an unusual request. She had never laid down on the street to look at the stars in the middle of the night before and it sounds like an oddly specific ritual. It’s easy to understand why Jodie would do so, and why she’d invite her along, though, because when she looks at the stars, the stars look right back at her and smile. Not even the chilly breeze bothers her, as she was smart enough to pick out a thick sweater before tiptoeing down the stairs and out of her house. Nothing could bother her tonight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m here,” she announces. “And it’s, like, fifty degrees, so I hope it makes you feel better that I’m stupid enough to go along with your ideas.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You wrote me a song and I said thank you by forcing you to lie on the cold street. You should block me.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie sighs exaggeratedly, with a smirk painted on her lips. “You better make this worth it,” she says, as if it isn’t already.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“How’s D?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jodie asks after the briefest silence. The idea that Trixie made her uncomfortable enough that she had to change topics only deepens her smirk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t mention it in the emails, but I came out to her a while ago and turns out my brain was wrong. She doesn’t hate me because I’m gay, she hates me because I’m annoying.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What a sadistic coincidence. I also hate you because you’re annoying!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jodie’s laughter thunders on the other side of the line. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Sorry. I’m happy it went well, D seems like a good friend to you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, she is the best friend I could ever have.” Trixie’s eyes widen in the dark. “I mean, at this point, you two are tied at the top. You’re a good friend as well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silence. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Totally, you’re right up there for me too. You’re a great friend.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve never had a friend like you before,” Trixie says, and it’s the first truth she has spoken in these last few sentences. “You truly are one of a kind.” Trixie blinks up at the stars. “Why did you want me to come outside with you? Is it something you and your sister used to do, lie down in the middle of the street at night and watch the stars?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Not really,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jodie answers. She sighs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ve only ever done this once before, and I was alone. I… I guess it’s more of a you and me thing.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Trixie bites her lip. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“A friend thing.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ugh. Nevermind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Aren’t they your favorite thing?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jodie asks after clearing her throat. Trixie wonders how much of a good idea it is for her to be out in the cold after having tired out her throat by crying all day long. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“The stars?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie watches the sky in its eternal nothingness. “They’re just big balls of gas. Cows are the same thing and no one romanticizes cows, which is at the very least hypocritical.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jodie laughs a little too loudly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re an idiot.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hates how wide she’s smiling. “I’m not! It’s just… I don’t know. I think I’m a little afraid of them, of the idea of them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Why would you be afraid of stars?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They could end our entire existence in a matter of seconds. Don’t you pay attention to your Physics class?” Trixie laughs. She imagines Jodie rolling her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t even know if I take Physics, let’s start there,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jodie laughs along. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“But now I’m curious. How would the stars murder us, you nerd?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s more than one way, actually. We have kilonovas, we have the Sun swallowing us… But my favorite is Eta Carinae.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What is Eta Carinae?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a system made up of two stars, Eta Carinae A and Eta Carinae B. They’re so close together that astronomers used to think they were one gigantic star, and they shine brighter than five million Suns… But you can’t see them from Earth. They’re too far away.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“If they’re that far, how can they hurt us at all? Why would you worry about it?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jodie asks, seeming intrigued. Or maybe it’s just her voice being raspy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I worry because Eta Carinae is so big it occupies nearly the same space as the distance between the Earth and the Sun, and it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>extremely</span>
  </em>
  <span> unstable. The intensity of its light has been going up and down a lot since the 19th century, but no one has been able to find a pattern. The problem here is that this may mean that the fuel of one of these stars could run out at any moment - it could be in a million years, or it could be tomorrow. No one can tell. What astrophysicists know is that when it happens, the stars will explode into a supernova and it will shine brighter than hundreds of billions of Suns.” Trixie sighs. “It might have already exploded and we’re just waiting for the light to reach us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“That does sound scary.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean… According to my Physics teacher it hardly means we’re gonna die and the planet will explode. Some people think that the supernova created in the explosion could unleash gamma-ray burst and hit Earth directly, which would result in mass extinction - and that’s putting it lightly. Others think that Eta Carinae won’t even produce these rays, and if it does, they won’t hit our planet at all.” Trixie shrugs to herself, the stars staring down at her. “But I don’t know. If a star loses half of itself it has the right to be upset and destroy a few galaxies, don’t you think?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Amidst the silence, it hits her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I shouldn’t have said that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, it’s fine. I’m just thinking.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you thinking about?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“That it does feel like there is a supernova burning inside of me right now.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry…” Trixie’s hands almost tremble. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s fine,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jodie says. She coughs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“The stars have been making me think too much lately.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>A humorous stream of air comes out of her nose, creating a hissing sound on the phone. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Psalm 147:4. He counts the stars and calls them all by name.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m </span>
  </em>
  <span>the nerd?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jodie laughs softly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s supposed to show how much God cares about us, how much he knows and loves us. I know it by heart because it’s the one verse from the Bible that I hate the most.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The message seems nice, why would you hate it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Because God doesn’t exist. There is no force in the universe who cares for humans. If you only knew how many times I had someone come up to me and make any kind of religious connection to Brooke’s death…”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jodie grunts. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Some people are straight-up rude and say that it was the lack of god in her life that made her k-kill herself. I hate saying it,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she hisses. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Others try to be nice and say that now her soul will be found by God and he will heal her or some shit like that. If we go by that logic and there was a God who really cared about her this much, she wouldn’t have done it. Whatever it is that happened to her, god would have been there to save her from it.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I understand why you don’t like religion, and to be honest it’s not my thing either, but religion is a… manmade necessity.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, no, I’m cool with religion in itself for the most part, what I’m not cool with is Christianity as a whole. If you ever have kids and you want to make sure that they do not end up catholic, send them to catholic school. It works.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie sports a polite smile. “My mom raised me without any kind of religious belief and I couldn’t be more thankful for that. It must suck to be forced into this little ball of spiritualism and faith when you don’t relate to it at all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It does.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I understand why people do it, though. Religion is… Well, humans are scientific beings,” Trixie says. “We love questions, but more than that we love answers. It’s in our nature, in our DNAs, in the way our brains are made. We look, we touch, we smell, we stick stuff in our mouth all the time to get answers. But the thing is that we don’t have answers for everything. We never will, actually. So we find ways to make them up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Like religion,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jodie comments.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like religion,” Trixie confirms. “That’s what gives us the answers to things we will never know - what does life actually mean? Why do we exist? Where do we go when we die? I guess it helps us calm down. The idea of these questions simply not having answers is too frightening.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Afterlife in heaven does sound better than eternal nothingness, than the ceasing of existence. I don’t believe it, but I really wish I did. I would have an answer for where Brooke is right now, what happened to her. It’s a nice picture to have in my head of her hanging out in heaven, sitting on the clouds and meeting, I don’t know, fucking Freddie Mercury. No bothers, just her, maybe a few angels bringing her fruit, no troubles,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jodie’s voice cracks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Nothing that would make her feel the need to take her own life. Fuck, I wish I believed in reincarnation. Maybe I’d think she’s already been born again, in a different body, but with the very same soul. That… That would be the best thing that could ever happen, even if it’s a little selfish of me. Having to imagine a world without her… No, fuck that. Having to </span>
  </em>
  <span>live </span>
  <em>
    <span>in a world without her is the worst thing I’ve ever been through. So it does calm me down that maybe, because of some god or whatever, she’s not gone. She’s still in this world, even if not next to me. That is the most hopeful thing that could ever occur to me, but it’s funny how the only thing I know for sure right now is how untrue that is because Brooke doesn’t exist anymore.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not true,” Trixie whispers. She swallows her tears down. “Don’t say things like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Why not? It’s… It’s the truth, whether I like it or not.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is going to sound awfully cliché, but she still exists in you. In the memories you have with her, in all the habits you picked up from her, in all the things she taught you, and in the conversations you had. She could never not exist, not with you around.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I thought I was the words girl, but okay.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie doesn’t laugh or smile. Instead, she feels the glimmer of the stars above her reflecting on her skin. “Why don’t you make up your own answer, Jodie? To where people go when they die. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> the words girl, after all”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Okay, I could do that. Let me think,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jodie’s breath sizzles on the speaker. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I, uh… Maybe it goes a little along with your logic. Maybe when we die, all that is left of us in the world are the things we liked, the things that touched us somehow. So maybe now Brooke exists a little more every time someone watches Ten Things I Hate About You, and every time someone dances the Swan Lake in their ballet classes, and every time someone dips their fries in their milkshake, and every time someone goes to the movie theater. It could even be a little bigger, like every time someone gets into med school. Do you think it makes any sense?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perfect sense,” Trixie replies. Jodie sighs profoundly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What other questions do people turn to religion for?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think people have many, many questions about love. If there’s one thing more mystical and incomprehensible than death, it is love. People always want to seem to know how to love. Sometimes even who to love.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The silence stretches the distance between them. Trixie bites her lip, hoping she didn’t say something wrong, breathing in and out loud enough for Jodie to hear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Have you ever been in love?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie thinks. “I don’t know yet. Have you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t know either.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think… When it happens, maybe it will be so clear in front of my eyes I will immediately realize. You know, anxiety makes me pay extra attention to everything that I feel and I think I could name all of the reasons why my heart speeds up - I’ve counted them. I’ll notice a new one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I think when it happens to me it won’t happen at once. Maybe love settles itself slowly, giving small warnings as it goes, and every time you get used to a feeling it changes, it deepens. You like being with someone and then suddenly you catch yourself thinking ‘I think I’m falling in love with you’ when something shifts inside of you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve never got to the point of thinking that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, not with people at least.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I have, but not romantically. I’ve been falling in love with playing the guitar and singing, and also with the way y… Nevermind. What I’m trying to say is that love other than the romantic type is maybe just as complex.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, totally.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And, uh, while we’re on the topic… How were your parents today?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jodie grunts. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“How upset will you be if I tell you that I haven’t really talked to them today?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jodie!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I know, I’m sorry…”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Am I the one you have to apologize to?” Trixie asks with a bratty pout.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Okay, fucking ouch… But you’re right,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jodie sighs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I should talk to them tomorrow, ask them how they’re feeling. Just the thought of that makes me want to throw up because today was… Today was fucked up. I barely saw my dad in the morning because he left early for work, and I can’t even blame him for wanting to avoid my mom and me. I would avoid us too if I could. I didn’t even see him come home in the afternoon because I spent the day locked in my room, but I can imagine what he must have been like. Probably stone-cold, unreachable.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It must have been horrible for him, having to be at work all day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I think it might have helped, to be honest, at least to make him think of something other than his dead daughter. He already works hard, too hard, I think today he worked double his normal.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about your mom?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“My mom is definitely not as good as hiding her emotions as my dad is,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jodie told her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“She was quiet during our breakfast and I don’t even know if she noticed that I got home early today. W-when I got home, she was in Brooke’s room again, sitting on her bed. Crying. Praying in Russian. She never prays in Russian any more, but she used to when we were kids. I guess maybe her god will understand her better if she speaks her native language. She’s that desperate.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wh…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And you know what the worst part is? I wanted to go sit there and pray with her. Fuck what I believe, fuck what I don’t believe. I know all of the words to all of the prayers you can imagine in two fucking languages, yet I kept my mouth shut because I’m a little bitch.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> a little bitch. You’re a huge bitch, but you’re a huge bitch who’s having a hard time.” Jodie chuckles ever so slightly. “I know I said you should try to be there for your parents, but you need to be there for yourself too. All of you are still learning how to deal with this. I bet right now they’re wishing they could have been there for you too. Have you told them about what happened at school?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I can’t. They don’t need any more trouble than they already have.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wish you’d let yourself be taken care of,” Trixie says. “I know your parents don’t have it any easier, but they’re here for you, and G and M are here for you… And I’m here for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I wish I knew how to let myself be taken care of,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jodie confesses. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“But you’re the smart one here.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I’m also the pretty one, please don’t forget that,” Trixie pleads and manages to snatch another giggle from Jodie. “What did you do today after you got home?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I went through our old pictures. Big mistake,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jodie says. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“It made me think too much after I saw some photos… She already had ideas for her prom dress and all.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Trixie can tell that Jodie is about to start crying again because the huskiness in her voice deepens.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What did you think about?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I just thought that it really hurts to lose what we don’t have yet, what we don’t know yet. Curiosity is… It’s a poison that crawls through our bones and itches every inch of the way. What dress would she choose to wear to her senior prom? Would she cry on her graduation day? How many boxes would she fill up with her shit to take to university? Would she meet the love of her life in college and marry him? Would she be a cardiologist or a pediatrician? What would the name of her first kid be?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jodie sniffs and audibly inhales with her mouth open. She stops talking for a second and Trixie simmers in the silence. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Not knowing is like a disease that consumes every part of you. All I can do now is guess and believe, but that will never be enough. Not for me.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Me too. And I’m fucking sick of it.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya cries for at least half an hour more until her body hints at her that if a single more tear sheds from her eye she will be severely dehydrated. She asks Dolly not to talk about Brooke anymore, to talk about anything but Brooke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Do you know what’s funny?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Her friend prompts.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “I know absolutely all of your traumas and the deepest darkest patches of what makes you human, but… I don’t know what your favorite color is, or your favorite movie.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My favorite color is red. What’s yours?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Pink. And I don’t have a favorite movie, but I love musicals. D and I always settle for Rocky Horror.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh…” Katya thinks. “I think I only ever watched one musical that I liked…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, which one was it?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“... Rock of Ages?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dolly’s laughter is so loud Katya has to get her phone away from her ear before it deafens her. It’s a hysterical shriek that could easily be mistaken for some sort of animal being turned into a sausage. It involuntarily springs a smile on her own lips, and soon a timid giggle too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? What’s wrong with it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Out of all musicals in the world, </span>
  </em>
  <span>this</span>
  <em>
    <span> is the one you liked? That’s like… Why?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya’s cheeks are warm with redness. “What about it? The songs are good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“The songs are fine, the movie itself is a little… Ridiculous?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dolly clears her throat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you but I did not see that one coming. Tell me, what’s your favorite song in it?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you going to laugh again?” A cheeky smile takes place on her face as if Dolly could see it. Something tells her she’s smiling too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I promise I won’t.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh… I mean, I like all of the songs, 80s rock is my jam, but in the movie I really liked Can’t Fight This Feeling. You know, when Russell Brand and Alec Baldwin, I don’t remember their characters’ names, they confess their love for each other?” Katya stops for a second, knitting her brows together. “I had never thought about it before, but I don’t think it’s a coincidence that my favorite song happens to be the gay one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dolly laughs again, this time not as hysterically, but still loud enough to make Katya wonder if she’s woken her neighbors up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, but I like this one too… You know… I can’t fight this feeling any looonger…”</span>
  </em>
  <span> She sings. It’s Katya’s turn to laugh like a maniac. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“And yet I’m still afraid to let it floooow… Come on, it’s a duet, I’m not singing this on my own!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know the words!” Katya attempts, but Dolly grunts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Bullshit!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rolling her eyes, Katya coughs. Her throat is already suffering from being on the cold street after crying all day, but when she looks up at the stars and sees them looking right back at her, she sighs in defeat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What started out as friendship has grown strooonger…” She belts, voice cracking. On the phone, Dolly celebrates. “I only wish I had the strength to let it shooow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I tell myself that I can’t hold out forever… I say there is no reason for my feeeears.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Cause I feel so secure when we’re togeeether… You give my life direction…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You make everything sooo cleeeear…”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And even as I wander, I’m keeping you in sight!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re a candle in the window…”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“On a cold, dark winter’s night…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And I’m getting closer than I ever thought I miiiiiiiiight,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>they sing in unison, breaking up into laughter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And I can’t fight this feeling anymooooore, I’ve forgotten what I started fighting foooor… Come on, don’t leave me hanging,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dolly asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya sighs. “It’s time to bring this ship into the shore, and throw away the ooooars foreveeeeer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Cause I can’t fight this feeling anymoooooore,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> they sing together again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ve forgotten what I started fighting foooor… And if I have to crawl upon the floor,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dolly continues.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come crashing through your doooor,” Katya barges in, one hand on her chest, trying to hold her heart back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Baby I can’t fight this feeling anymoooooore!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>They finish together and erupt in laughter immediately after they’re done stretching the last vowel. Katya laughs so hard and for so long that she only realizes she hasn’t stopped laughing yet when her cheeks begin to hurt, happy tears jolt from her eyes, and her stomach is breathless. She can’t sing with a gun pointed to her head, but right now that’s the least of her worries. Surely Dolly doesn’t have the same issues - she sounds good, just like she did in that first recording of Landslide. Maybe singing comes naturally to her the same way that running endless laps around a track comes to Katya, or the same way she knows exactly what to do whenever she picks up a paintbrush. She imagines Dolly right now, lying in the middle of the street with a smile as bright as the stars above her, but no face comes with that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, it unsettles Katya how familiar the voice seems. She wonders if she’s ever encountered Dolly out there in the world somewhere and makes a mental note to start paying more attention to the way people speak from now on - which she’s sure she’ll forget about before she gets the chance to hang up the phone tonight. Katya grunts to herself, hopeful that Dolly won’t hear it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shut up</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shut up. Her face is the least important thing about her. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who do you think tops?” Katya asks. Dolly gasps a little too loudly, seeming to be choking on air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Excuse me?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Between Alec and Russell - who’s the top and who’s the bottom?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, them.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya’s laugh bubbles all the way up from her esophagus and spills all over the street around her, even though it’s a bit shaky. “Who did you think I was talking about, you lesbo? Us?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well, yeah. It seems less awkward of a question than making me picture Alec and Russell boning. I’ll never forgive you for that, by the way. The image is now burned in my mind.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re being dramatic.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re being weird.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fair.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And, uh, just for the record… I don’t know yet.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t know what? If you’re a top or a bottom?” Hair rustles against the phone, in what Katya assumes to be a nod. “I mean, I don’t think I know either.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I think you may seem like a top to others, but deep down you’re a bottom.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, enlighten me on that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You seem to be a little spoiled, you know. Catholic school girl, who wants to make sure her parents are at least a little uncomfortable in her presence at all times? That’s bottom energy.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dolly’s explanation hits Katya right on her dignity. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Not that it’s a bad thing to be a bottom, don’t get me wrong, please…”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I know it’s not a bad thing, I’m just shocked anyone would ever think that when obviously I exude top energy,” Katya contests. Dolly laughs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You say that, but when was the last time you made a move on a girl?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When was the last time </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> made a move on a girl?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silence. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Whatever.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya’s lips part in laughter again. The only reminder of how much she’s cried today is the constant sting in her throat, the sand-like roughness that’s spread all around it, but other than that all she recalls doing since she started talking to Dolly was laughing. Cackling, even, like a loony. The air around her is cold, it freezes her cheeks and she can see a small cloud of smoke leave her lips in the shape of her giggles. The chill in the air never reaches her chest, which is so warm it could start a small fire. It is full of things she doesn’t have names for yet, but maybe Dolly will help her figure out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you know what I have made a move on, though?” She asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“... What?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A dumpster.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another fit of laughter escapes Dolly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Please, </span>
  </em>
  <span>please</span>
  <em>
    <span> tell me more about it.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, M, G, and I were talking about how I’d kissed so many boys that it wouldn’t feel any different to kiss a fucking dumpster… And M said that I wouldn’t. I, of course, could not let that be the downfall of my reputation. What am I, a woman or a rat?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’d say you’re probably infected with some sort of Hepatitis, but go on…”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up!” Katya laughs. “Uh, yeah, so M bet twenty dollars that I wouldn’t kiss a dumpster. I may have gotten Hepatitis, but I did get twenty dollars out of it too, so I guess it was worth it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What did you do with the twenty dollars?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re hanging on my wall to this day, they’re my military badge.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Isn’t that a little disrespectful to the military?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, good. The military deserves no respect, and neither does the police.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Why do you think that?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dolly’s voice twinges. Her vowels are deformed into a Wisconsin accent and her </span>
  <em>
    <span>th</span>
  </em>
  <span> sounds fall flat when her tongue hits the back of her teeth instead of the gap between them. Katya sighs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well, it’s a long, long story…”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>September 19th, 2015. Saturday, 03:45 a.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie has her phone on speaker, laid on the street next to her head, and almost tangled into the volume of her curls. At a time like this, her eyes should be heavy with sleep, but tonight she can feel electricity rushing through her lashes every time she blinks. No night has ever been more welcoming to her. She wants to stay here forever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jodie rambled about her political views and Trixie listened but didn’t add much to the conversation. She doesn’t mind this kind of talk, considering Dela often rants about how the world is shit and unfair and uses difficult words Trixie hopes she never has to learn the meaning of, but she stands by what her friends say anyway. The world </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> shit and it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> unfair, but she doesn’t know what she can do about it other than not being a shitty and unfair person. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are we done with the political talk? If you say the word capitalism one more time I think I’ll just hang up on you,” Trixie grunts. No, she doesn’t have a smile plastered across her face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You wouldn’t hang up on me.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Try me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Capitalism.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The world sits silent for a minute or two. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You didn’t hang up.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only because I’m polite, don’t think too highly of yourself,” Trixie comments. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Now that I know how much you like me? Never. I am the queen of the world!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie rolls her eyes. “I thought you didn’t like monarchies.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And I don’t, but no monarch could ever amount to the power that is being liked by you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie’s heart skips two beats at a time. Hearing Jodie talk like that, with her hoarse voice and sarcastic undertone, could almost make her feel something about her choice of words. She enjoys the idea of being liked by Trixie, apparently. The coldness from the asphalt is quickly absorbed by her stomach, causing turmoil among the butterflies. They once flew aimlessly with calm, but now all they seem to do is bump into each other at max speed. She could say something. She could do so right now and see where it goes. They’re under the stars, alone, in plain sight but yet no one will look for them where they are now. The night sky seems to understand Trixie’s thoughts and shines back at her, telling her to say something, anything. This is their moment right now, this is the very physical manifestation of what their little email world feels like, no one else exists but them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I really like being your friend.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The butterflies all drop dead and the stars seem to stray further away from her up in the night sky. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I like being your friend too. I just think you should tone your System of a Down energy… Well, down..”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jodie laughs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Why, though? It’s important to talk about this stuff. Have you asked yourself why </span>
  </em>
  <span>do </span>
  <em>
    <span>they always send the poor?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know it is, I don’t think you’d let me forget it that easily, but… Jodie…” The other girl’s breath hitches on the phone. “I think it makes you too stressed, and I’m under the impression that today has been stressful enough for you. It</span>
  <em>
    <span> is</span>
  </em>
  <span> important, you’ve said it yourself, but you know what’s also important? Your head! Your health! You’re a sixteen-year-old girl from Wisconsin, it’s not up to you to change the world. At least not right now. You can educate me more on this some other day, but today… Let’s not talk about politics anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Alright then, what do you want to talk about?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jodie challenges her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anything that will make you feel better and not make you think about how shitty the world is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Okay… Why don’t you tell me something silly? Something you think will make me smile. Bonus points if it’s something you’ve never told anyone else before.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie licks her teeth. “Okay, but you’re not allowed to laugh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You can’t say that and expect me not to laugh.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Promise me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jodie sighs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I promise.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So… I always wanted to have a girlfriend named Caroline so I could sing Sweet Caroline to her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is silence on the line. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I said silly, not pathetic.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie’s mouth falls open in indignation. “Okay, sorry if my romanticism bothers you, but I bet you’d love to hear someone sing your name to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’d rather eat shit.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that so? What if I just… Sweeeeet Joooooodieeee, pa pa pa! Good times never seemed so gooood,” Trixie belts a little too loudly for how late it is, getting carried away with the vowels. Her voice echoes in the emptiness of her street as the wind sweeps by.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Shut up.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re hard to please, aren’t you?” Trixie teases. “You can’t look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t enjoy having your name sung to you!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please never try anything like that again.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, you’re not into people singing you white trash music, I got it, I got it… Then what </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> you into? Like, what is the most romantic thing someone could do for you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t want a romantic thing or whatever. I don’t really pay much mind to that.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jodie sighs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I think I always had so much trouble with figuring myself out that I never stopped to think much about this.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, don’t play the closet card on me,” the girls laugh. “There has to be something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I can’t believe I’m going to say it out loud.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it a fart kink?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, you idiot, it’s just… I just want to feel like I’m loved. That’s all.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh. Trixie knows she maybe didn’t mean it to be this harsh, but the words left Jodie’s mouth with such weight that they have smashed and crushed Trixie’s lungs into malfunctioning bits and pieces. Jodie had been way more open than this through emails before, but to actually listen to her say it feels a little too raw. It’s the single most uncomfortable thing she’s ever felt, to be able to sink her teeth onto her own tongue and feel the acid of Jodie’s affirmation oozing out. The amount of hurt that fits into such a small sentence ties all of her guts into a knot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What would make you feel loved?” It’s the only thing she manages to say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Right now?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jodie asks. As if she could be seen, Trixie nods. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Not being left alone.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I… I don’t know if it counts, but I’m not going anywhere.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Good. I want you to stay.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m staying.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The line falls silent. Trixie takes this time to watch the stars once again, the big balls of gas. How can they be so pretentious, shining this bright, like they know all of the answers for the questions she hasn’t even asked herself yet? She sighs quietly enough that Jodie won’t hear her, but loud enough to make herself realize it’s really up to her. Whether they turn into anything different than this already is or they stay the same, she must convince Jodie that the same world that took so much from her already also has a lot to give to her still. This very same world is loving and incredibly, incredibly worth it. Trixie is still on her own way to believe that, but Jodie doesn’t need to know that. Jodie needs</span>
  <em>
    <span> her</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie inhales heavily, making an exaggerated sound. “Sweeeet Joooodie, pa pa pa…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the other side of the line, Jodie can’t help her laughter. It’s loud and it’s beautiful. Her laughter is a star in itself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>September 19th, 2015. Saturday, 06:30 a.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Katya notices that the sun is taking its time to rise. She hasn’t checked the time since four twenty in the morning, which made room for an extremely inconvenient weed joke, but now she’s sure it’s past five. It went by quicker than she realized, like when you watch a new movie in the theater for the first time and it feels like you sat there for half an hour, but it was actually for two hours and a half. The birds have been chirping around her for a while now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They hang up shortly after, when Dolly realizes her mom is probably already up and she’ll get herself in trouble for having stayed up all night. It takes them three tries before they actually end the call. Right before the last try, Katya’s sleepless brain betrays her and asks Dolly if she can dream about her once she finally gets to sleep. She says yes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the world becomes quiet with the lack of talking, Katya takes a deep breath in, watching the sun on its way up. Her heart bites itself at the thought of dreaming about her, at the thought of her actually having asked that question. She smiles on her way inside of her house, which is considerably warmer than the street she’d been lying on. Her back hurts, her throat aches, and her eyes feel as if they’re about to fall out. At the top of the stairs, careful not to creak the hardwood floor, she doesn’t turn left towards her room, but right, looking at the door that remains closed most of the time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi,” she whispers after stepping inside. “I miss you. Today more than ever.” Without giving it much thought, she climbs on the bed with the hundred pillows that always lay there and closes her eyes just for a minute before she makes her way back to her own bedroom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It ends up being the best sleep she has gotten in months. She dreams about pretty flowers, animal-shaped clouds, and Dolly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Also… This will sound strange, and I’m sorry if it creeps you out but I swear, I swear I’ve heard your voice before. I had the same impression when I heard you singing Landslide (&lt;3). I guess I’ve read your emails so many times in my own head that it sounded familiar when you spoke, that’s all.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello everyone! Hope y'all doing okay! Uni is finally over so now I'll hopefully be back to posting more regularly! Tonight I'm freaking myself out because I'm sick with symptoms of Covid, so I thought an update might help cheer me up a bit! I wanna thank my honeybuns <a href="https://zamo-95.tumblr.com/">Zamo-95</a> and <a href="https://fedu31.tumblr.com/">Fedu</a> for the neverending patience and support, and thank all of you for reading and leaving such nice comments &lt;3 You can reach out to me on <a href="https://galaxybrunost505.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> whenever you feel like &lt;3 Hope you enjoy the chapter!!</p>
<p>P.S.: Let me know if you catch the WTNV reference!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>September 19th, 2015. Saturday, 04:14 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: last night :)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Dolly, </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I know I have your phone number now and I could easily have sent you a text, but I think this feels more like us. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anyway, I’m just passing by to say thank you, again, like I did a million times before I hung up this morning. So thank you. This is probably very exaggerated, but it meant a lot more to me than you realize. You mean a lot more to me than you realize. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I slept on her bed. Best sleep I’ve gotten since she died. I didn’t remember how warm her room is, all the time, even with the heat off. My mom woke me up and laid there with me for a while, which finally gave me the chance to talk to her. It was painful, and it was uncomfortable, but it felt necessary. I hate seeing her cry, I always hate to see anyone at all cry, it drives me nuts because I never know how to act, but today… I kinda understood it. I knew where those tears were coming from and I let myself cry in front of her too. I think my dad heard us because he showed up in her room too. He tried very hard not to cry - I guess I know where I got that from - but he ended up crying with us. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was sad, but it was beautiful too. For a moment it was just us, sitting on her bed, not caring. Loving Brooke, remembering her. It’s fucked up that she died, especially the way she did, and I guess we took some time to forgive her as well. I know how it sounds - forgiving her for killing herself? Harsh. I don’t think many people would understand what it feels like to have someone you love take their own life, but it’s definitely not what I expected. Of course you get sad, you’re sad above everything else, but the anger… The anger is definitely there. I don’t even think it’s anger, it’s more like a lack of understanding, a frustration. Why did she do it? How could she do it, how could she leave me? Did she not love me enough to stay? Did she ever doubt that I loved her enough to help her through whatever the fuck drove her to this? Would I have been able to help at all? She didn’t leave a note. She didn’t have any apparent reason. She left. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>chose</span>
  </em>
  <span> to leave. How could she ever for a moment think… I don’t even know. That we would ever get over this? That we, that I, would be okay without her? It’s a selfish way to think, I know, but so was she. I needed her and she chose to leave me behind in this miserable fucking world. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’s where the forgiveness comes in, to make peace with the lack of understanding. Sadness is strong, anger is strong, but forgiveness is stronger. Maybe she wasn’t strong enough to forgive and that’s why she did what she did. It’s difficult, though. Forgiveness is when I look into myself and I realize that despite it all I’m still here, and she’s not. Whatever I’m going through is definitely not even half as terrible as what she went through. Forgiveness is when I remember all of the times she made me laugh and how that is worth so much more than the times she made me cry. Forgiveness is moving on, forgiveness is living my life, forgiveness is realizing that our place in the cosmos is so small, and yet it is. Forgiveness is unpleasant and it makes me cry a lot, but it’s also what keeps me going. I forgive her, and I forgive myself, and I forgive my parents every single day, over and over again, until I don’t have to anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m not writing to talk about Brooke, though. I’m writing to talk about you. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You must be sick of me by now, considering all I ever do is tell you sad things and then kiss your ass. Oh, yeah, and also the fact that we were on the phone for over five hours even though I could barely talk. By the way, I loved it when you talked about the stars, nevermind the fact you were telling me they’re about to extinguish all forms of life on Earth. It’s a beautiful story to be told. Now that I’ve already started rambling again, I’ll lie to you and promise that I won’t take too much more of your time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I understand how much your privacy means to you and I’m sorry I pushed it earlier. It was mostly a joke, but I’ll be more careful next time. I’d hate to do anything that would make you stop talking to me - I don’t know what I’d do with myself if that was the case. I know it’s not an excuse, but every time I talk to you I get a little lost, my head is somewhere else while my body is still here. Hearing your voice? I was in an entirely different world. Also… This will sound strange, and I’m sorry if it creeps you out but I swear, I swear I’ve heard your voice before. I had the same impression when I heard you singing Landslide (&lt;3). I guess I’ve read your emails so many times in my own head that it sounded familiar when you spoke, that’s all. It was definitely weird, but also very comforting. My memory isn’t the best, so I’m not sure I’ll remember what you sound like for long. I’ll enjoy it while it lasts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What I’m really trying to say is that… Last night meant a lot to me. More than I can fathom into words. Given the circumstances, I was as happy as I could be. And not only you are part of it, but you’re also the reason for it. So thank you. I don’t think I’ll ever get over everything you do to me, for me, and the way you make me feel. Safe. And whatever the opposite of lonely is.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You’re my little piece of serendipity, Dolly. Thanks for that too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Love, Jodie.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>September 19th, 2015. Saturday, 10:01 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: RE: last night :)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Jodie, </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Your emails always manage to make me miserable and warm at the same time. Amazing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I understand what you mean about forgiveness. It really is a strong feeling and it’s hard allowing ourselves to forgive. I think about my mom a lot, and how much we have to forgive each other. We both know that things are out of our control, but that never stopped anyone from feeling frustrated, sad, or angry. I know it’s not her fault that we had to get by on our own all my life, that I have to work every day of the week to make money to pay for my own meds, that I’ve had to bring myself up because she wasn’t physically there for me. She knows it’s not my fault my brain is a little problematic, that I require attention she will never be able to provide me with, or that I sorta kinda am the reason she never left this miserable town to find something better for herself. I’m sure if she had to do it all again, she would, and so would I. We ruined each other’s lives a little bit, but we love each other too much to let that get in our way. I guess this is what being a family is like. You forgive them and you love them despite it all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anyway, you are very sweet. I’m happy you understand how important it is for me to keep my identity a secret, how else would I be a superhero if not like this? Makes you think, huh? And yeah, I felt the same about your voice… But it’s probably all in my head too. You were very sick and it was probably that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m happy I could make you happy, Jodie. That’s exactly what I wanted. Whenever I’m able to be there for you, please let me know. And please, don’t go thinking I don’t feel the exact same way about you - the person that I was before I met you and the person that I am now are definitely not the same, but they could be friends. You bring me the peace of mind I never thought I’d have. Talking to you is like getting a math problem right on the first try, for fuck’s sake, you made me write a song. What is it about you that brings up the absolute best in me? It’s far beyond me to understand any of this, even at this point. I hope I figure it out one day, and when I do, you’ll be the first to know. I could say it’s your eyes, but I’ve never seen them, so I guess they’re not the cause of this, it comes straight from who you are as a person. Disgusting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You don’t have to thank me for last night. I had fun, even though there was some crying right there in the middle. It’s always a fun time with you. :) </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yours, Dolly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>September 20th, 2015. Sunday, 01:07 a.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: RE:RE: last night :)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Dolly,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This is a weird, and stupid, extremely stupid question. Remember the first emails that we exchanged, how I said maybe it’d be a good thing that we’d be lost together and you said that maybe this would be us being found?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Don’t you think you were right? Don’t you think this is us being found?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You can ignore this if you want to, it’s ridiculous, but I had to say it. I’m a walking cliché, unfortunately.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Love, Jodie.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>September 20th, 2015. Sunday, 02:19 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: RE:RE:RE: last night :)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Jodie,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At this point, I couldn’t care less whether we’re lost or found or somewhere in the middle. I think I maybe would have been more concerned about that a while back, but not now. The only thing that matters to me right now is that you’re with me, wherever it is that we are.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yours, Dolly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>When she hands the coins to Trixie, their hands meet. It’s slight, the kind of touch that isn’t supposed to be intimate or special, but Katya immediately finds herself wanting to reach for her hand once again. Their eyes are quick to move to each other’s faces.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey girls, gays, and theys &lt;3 Guess who is Covid positive! Yup, this bitch right here. It's been tough, but I'm getting better! Thankfully lesbian fanfiction has been my ally through and through for this past week, and so have <a href="https://zamo-95.tumblr.com/">Zamo-95</a>, <a href="https://fedu31.tumblr.com/">Fedu</a> and all of you loving bitches who took some time to stop by and give some love &lt;3 Thank you all for reading and being there for me &lt;3 You can reach out to me on <a href="https://galaxybrunost505.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>!</p>
<p>TW: This chapter contains ~mild~ descriptions of violence and sexual harassment.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>September 23rd, 2015. Wednesday, 10:37 a.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There is only one thing that could ruin Katya’s mood today, and that thing is Mr. Chad Wright.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya’s heart had been fucking beaming. Life hadn’t felt this light since she last saw her sister alive. She spent the entirety of Sunday with a silly smile on her face despite not being able to speak very well from her throat, and by the time Monday morning came she greeted Gigi and Monét with the kind of cheerful energy she normally exudes after having a few too many. Never in her life had she had such a pleasant little Monday morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then came Chad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stopped by her locker right before lunch, resting his hand against the metal with his arm stretched out, the perfect pose for him to both corner Katya in and show off his huge bicep. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s probably bigger than his brain,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Katya thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Definitely bigger than his dick.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just wanted to talk to you, baby,” he answered when she asked what he wanted. Katya gritted her teeth at the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>baby</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “I like it when you wear that little skirt.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s the uniform, Chad. Literally everyone else with a vagina is wearing it,” she told him. He, of course, laughed it off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tuesday was the same, only this time he approached her while she was chewing a mouthful of mashed potatoes. She smiled at him with the mealy white paste dripping from her mouth and Gigi almost gagged sitting across from her at the table, but Monét giggled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Baby, you do have an appetite, don’t you?” Katya cringed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Baby.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Not this bullshit again. “Just make sure your shirt will still button by the end of lunchtime, yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rolled her eyes. He was at least inconvenient and at most a huge idiot, but though Katya isn’t the most intelligent, she is smart. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This bitch is up to something</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought,</span>
  <em>
    <span> and I refuse to be a part of it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wednesday has finally arrived, and according to Katya’s calculations, Chad might try something again today. She has been squinting at every corner she passes by, waiting for the guy who is the size of a wardrobe to sneak up on her when she least expects it. U.S. History manages to take her mind off of it a little, and boy, oh boy, she’s gonna have to watch Hamilton one more time before she takes her next test if she wants to pass at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the bell rings, she walks out of the classroom with a quick step. One of her socks slides down her shin a little, showing a peek of her unshaven leg, while the other sits firmly at her knee. Her head is hung low, facing the floor, but when she bumps into someone she decides to look up. Like a miracle, she spots Gigi walking right towards her with a tight grip on her books. Her friend’s steps are quick and tight, her shoulders are hunched forward and the ginger strands on her head are sticking out of her headband from places where they shouldn’t really be sticking out of. Latin class today must have been… Intense. Guess they both had a wild time so far.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“G!” Katya waves. The girl doesn’t look up, so Katya frowns. “Ms. Goode,” she tries again. This time it works, clearly startling her friend. “Are you okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gigi’s eyes are already big, like a porcelain doll, but right now their width worries Katya a little bit. “Me? Great. Fantastic. Couldn’t be better.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look like you’re trying to run from someone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am,” Gigi mutters. “I was Mullet Methyd’s partner in Latin and now we have to do a project together.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, okay. You’re not super into her, are you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gigi turns red like her hair. “Into her? No, w-what are you talking about? Shut up. No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya arches a brow, but gives up and shakes her head. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just give her a shot? You might end up getting along. You’re so easygoing, I really don’t get what’s your issue with her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I highly doubt we’d ever get along at all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wanna bet?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Last time you made a bet you had to kiss a dumpster. Are you sure you’re in the mood for business?” Gigi cracks the first smile since they’ve started talking. Katya loosens her shoulders at the sight and sports her own little grin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gigi rolls her eyes. She opens her mouth to speak, but her expression goes blank. “Shit,” she whispers. “Chad is coming.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya shuts her eyes, noticing how hollow her chest feels. Fuck. When she feels the pair of warm and clammy hands on her shoulders she shows no reaction, but her guts twist in disgust. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yekaterina!” Why is his voice always so annoying? Every time he speaks Katya has the sudden urge to shove her entire fist into his mouth to see if that’ll shut him up. If he calls her </span>
  <em>
    <span>baby</span>
  </em>
  <span> one more time...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you want?” She turns to him. A smirk is plastered across his face and he has that stupid blue hat he always wears backward, his brown hair sticking over his eyes. His shoulders are broad enough to make him look like an old fridge. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look nice today,” he says. She rolls her eyes to his face, knowing fully well that she still has yesterday’s eyeliner leftover under her eyes and that putting her hair up with a banana clip isn’t exactly the hottest hairstyle of the moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Drinking your mom’s period blood keeps me young and beautiful,” she deadpans. “Was that it?” She crosses her arms. Katya may have been patient the first and second time Chad approached her this week, but she isn’t exactly known for having patience as her biggest virtue. Gigi has her brow furrowed and her lips in a pout, looking about as threatening as a small bunny. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Someone’s feisty,” Chad laughs. His teeth are all perfectly straight and white, just like all of his friends. Katya can almost taste the crunching sound they’d make if her fist happened to collide with his jaw. She stretches her fingers out. “My parents are out of town, and you know what that means, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You need someone to drive you to the nearest orphanage?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He giggles again, scratching his neck. The smell of Axe body spray coming from his underarms could intoxicate everyone in that hallway. “I’m having a party. Project X style.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do I have to know that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wiggles his eyebrows at her. She nearly hurls. “I want you to be there, baby. You’re a V.I.P.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Baby. Katya’s eyes turn red and her blood boils and bubbles and spills from her mouth. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Baby</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The feel of his touch on her neck and her back find their way to her almost immediately. She swallows to get rid of the taste of his tongue on hers and all the alcohol between them. He called her baby that night. He called her baby and then he led her into a room and tried to get his hands under her shirt. Her heart is beating loud enough for her to wonder if anyone around her can hear it, and she imagines her distress has settled into her face from the way Gigi reaches out to her hand immediately.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, isn’t that sweet? You want me to go to your party,” she smiles. Every time she blinks her eyes burn a little harder. “Do you know what I want, Chad? I want you to get your head out of your fucking ass.” He tries to speak, but she interrupts him, breaking away from Gigi’s touch and pointing her finger at his chest. “Don’t ever call me </span>
  <em>
    <span>baby</span>
  </em>
  <span> again, you fucking pervert. Even better than that, never fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk</span>
  </em>
  <span> to me again. Every time you open your mouth all I can think about is how disgusting you are, how rotted you are. I don’t know what kind of frenemy thing you had going on with my sister, but I’m not Brooke. I’m not civil like she was and I don’t put things behind me that easily.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yo, calm…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Calm down? Is that what I should do?” Katya cackles. The entire hallway has stopped to watch the scene, the only movements are nudges and hands covering mouths. Gigi stands behind Katya loyally. “Am I making you uncomfortable, Chad? Does it not feel nice to have a little dyke yelling at your face? What are you gonna do about it? Post another compromising video of me so you and your little friends can have a laugh to make yourselves feel better about having brains as tiny as your dicks? I don’t know what you want from me, but I won’t give it to you. You don’t scare me, Chad, you disgust me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silence falls, but Chad’s shocked expression soon gives place to that fucking smirk once again. Katya swallows. She can never win, can she? He always finds a way to get to her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, this is your choice. I wanted to be your friend, baby, I really did,” he sighs, and then giggles. His voice is so calm it could almost be soothing, but the only thing it does for Katya is send chills up and down her spine. “Fuck, you’re just like her. Exactly the same, Yekaterina. You talk too much and you don’t know your place. She was like that too. It wouldn’t surprise me if you ended up in the same hell where nosy, loud whores go when they can’t handle their shit anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya doesn’t blink. She closes her hand in a fist and aims for the jaw. She keeps going until she feels herself getting yanked off of him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>September 23rd, 2015. Wednesday, 11:15 p.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mrs. Michaels’ office is not what Katya would describe as inviting, and, to be fair, neither is the counselor’s face most of the time. It is claustrophobic and it smells like the piles of moldy paper accumulated on her desk. There are posters all around the walls.</span>
  <em>
    <span> What is popular isn’t always right and what is right isn’t always popular</span>
  </em>
  <span>, one of them reads in colorful letters. It was probably printed in the nineties, telling from the fading and the crippling. She almost raises her eyebrow at that, but the expression of complete disappointment on Mrs. Michales’ face is enough to make her sit quietly, with her arms crossed and a blank expression.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The counselor sighs. “I don’t know why I’m surprised, honestly,” she says, pushing her little thin glasses up her nose. “After all, it’s not the first time you’ve been sent to me for beating someone up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not someone, a boy.” Mrs. Michaels looks up at her. “What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yekaterina… I know how tempting it is, but you can’t hit people just because they are assholes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But I did it anyway, didn’t I?” Katya shrugs. “Chad had it coming, honestly. I’m not sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Wright hasn’t been the best to you, we know that… But don’t you think that punching him in the face was taking it a little too far?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t you think him spreading a video of me in an intimate moment was taking it a little too far? Don’t you think him calling my dead sister a whore was taking it a little too far?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fair enough. I’m aware that there is a right and a wrong side to this story, but when you do things like this it only blurs the lines, dear. You’re not known for being the most patient among us, but you can’t let yourself lose control like that because the only thing this will do for you is belittling the fairness of the situation,” the counselor explains. “You’re a great kid, Yekaterina. Stop letting your anger get the best of you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not wrong,” Katya admits, “but… I-I don’t think many people have been in the situation I’m in right now. I’m fucking sick of Chad. I hate him, I detest him. I already did before, but now… I don’t think I’m ever gonna be able to look him in the eye ever again. I don’t want to. I want him to disappear.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You said something while you were fighting with him. You asked him if it didn’t feel nice having, um… Having a…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dyke?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. Having one yell at him.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about it? Isn’t that what everyone used to call me anyway?” Katya chuckles, but it never reaches her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you mean it? Is it something you would like to discuss?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya runs her tongue over her teeth, silent. “I don’t think this is the point here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I think it’s part of the point, Yek… Katya. Unwanted male attention is always a problem among women, we all know what that is like,” Mrs. Michaels explains. “I can only imagine how much more uncomfortable it can be when you do not enjoy male attention at all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a minute of silence, Katya speaks up. “I… When he kissed me last year, that was my first kiss. And it fucking sucked, as you have probably guessed. Then I kissed boy after boy after boy trying to figure out how to make myself enjoy it. It was never </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> bad, but it wasn’t that great either. I figured it is the way it is. The good thing about it is that people are now too busy calling me an easy slut to remember that I’m a… Dyke.” Katya licks her bottom lip. “I prefer it. I know that the easy slut thing will stop when I want it to stop, but I can’t help being the other ugly thing people like to call me. I can’t change that about myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I see. Well, people will find any reason to be mean to you if that’s what they want. The best you can do is make sure that you know yourself well enough to allow no truths or lies to hurt you. If it’s true, then they’re right. You are what you are. If it’s not, then why bother?” Mrs. Michaels smiles, and it almost warms Katya’s spirit a little bit. “It doesn’t matter what you are and what you aren’t, as long as </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> know it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If… If anything, I won’t let anyone use that against me anymore. It’s my word. I’m claiming it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good,” the counselor nods. “You know who you are. Now I just need you to let me know as well. That’s the only way I’m gonna be able to help you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya sinks back into her chair, throwing her head back with a grunt. “I hate myself for this already.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, you don’t. You hate Chad, and rightfully so. Let’s focus on that for a bit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>September 24th, 2015. Thursday, 08:54 p.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The movie theater is having quite a busy night. Trixie sells ten popcorns, twenty Cokes - it’s the only soda they have -, and three packets of jelly beans. She smiles at everyone and makes sure to say “Enjoy the movie!” like she really means it. Mostly she doesn’t, but she’s in a good enough mood to think they believed her. She’s hoping she’ll be able to work on Little Sister while the movie plays. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once the lobby clears out and it’s just her and Shangie, she hears her co-worker clear her throat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” Shangie blinks, “I didn’t get a chance to ask you before but… What is going on with you and Miss Katya?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie looks up from her notebook, putting her little pencil down, and sighing. “There’s actually nothing going on, sorry to disappoint.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shangie furrows her brow. “Why not? She’s clearly flirting with you, and you flirt back every time!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not that simple, though…” Trixie tries. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about it isn’t simple? You think she’s cute, she thinks you’re cute - just fucking kiss already!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I kinda like someone else, Shangie, that’s what’s not simple about it,” Trixie confesses through her teeth. Shangie’s eyebrows immediately arch and she smiles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Beatrice Mattel, you never told me you were a womanizer!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie cackles. “I’m not! That’s why this is all so stupid!” She covers her face with both hands. “Ugh, I don’t know how I got myself into this!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Chill out, girl, it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> big of a deal.” Shangie takes a sip of her water. “You know what I miss about college? The mindless flirting, not having to worry about tomorrow, kissing strangers, and falling in and out of love in the same night! It’s exciting, Trix!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hand grabs her pencil and taps it on the counter, building intensity as she goes. She pouts. “Dela said the same thing to me, but I don’t know… I don’t feel like that. Maybe I’m just a killjoy, but crushing on people it’s not lighthearted and fun like you guys keep telling me it is. All of this is so… Much. It’s too much for me. My head won’t stop spinning and my heart beats so fast I think I’m dying at least twice a day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aw, Trix… The only way you can learn how to deal with that is to live through it and let yourself feel everything that there is to be felt!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie lets her forehead hit the counter and groans. “Shangie, I mean it… I don’t know what to do anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s the matter?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie looks up. “I’m fucked.” She lets out a shy chuckle. “I’m so fucked. I just had the single most… Amazing, romantic,</span>
  <em>
    <span> real</span>
  </em>
  <span> moment with this girl this weekend, and I swear I’ve never felt anything like this before. It should be easy. She’s perfect, Shangela, and… She’s smart-mouthed, she’s so real about her feelings and she’s genuinely trying to get better. This girl has been through so much, and she takes it like a champ. She’s strong, she’s learning how to be there for herself. It’s such a beautiful thing to watch.” Trixie smiles. “She makes me laugh, she tells me the most beautiful things and… It feels so natural, so meant to be. She doesn’t even make me nervous anymore, every time I hear from her it’s like I take my first breath after being underwater for the entire day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That sounds great, Trixie. Why is it a problem?” Shangie crosses her arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She keeps telling me how much she loves to be my friend. How much she values our friendship. It makes me sick to my stomach,” Trixie grunts. “And I said that it should be easy because it isn’t, really. We have everything we need… Except for, well, everything.” She shakes her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You like her for real, don’t you?” Trixie nods. “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And then… Then there’s Katya.” Trixie purses her lips. “She’s right here in front of me. I could touch her if I wanted to, and I’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. She’s gorgeous, and my heart almost breaks away from my chest every time she’s around. I never know what to say to her, but I know she wants it - whatever</span>
  <em>
    <span> it</span>
  </em>
  <span> is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Katya’s a good girl,” Shangie smiles. “I know she looks intimidating and all, but it’s easy to make her smile. For you, at least.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Trixie pinkens. “I like the idea of her, and it feels like she’s a good idea, but… It doesn’t change the fact that I know nothing about her. I see her, I… I just don’t like not knowing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I, uh, I know that you’re like… Extremely intelligent, and that I’m a college dropout who can’t do basic math. I’m aware of that,” Shangie points out with a pout. “But I think I’ve just outsmarted you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie frowns. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well… Why don’t you just ask Katya about herself? Then you’ll, like… Learn?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time, Trixie reddens. Her lips are reduced to a thin line and she’s blinking a little more slowly than usual. “You’re right. You did outsmart me. That was extremely bitchy of you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Both girls immediately start cackling. Trixie laughs so hard that her eyes water and her cheeks hurt. They keep laughing until closing time, sneaking sly peeks at each other from their respective counters and then when they throw away the trash together Trixie says: “There goes my brain.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her stomach aches with the leftover giggles, and she smiles at her mom when she walks into the house, but as soon as she lies down on her bed, hand tucked deep under her pillow, the tears start flowing out, silent. If her laughter was an earthquake, her crying is merely a breeze: barely there, but there enough to be felt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not the first time Trixie thinks about Katya and Jodie being polar opposites of each other, but it is only now that she realizes that the one feeling in common they evoke in her is fear, pure and slick. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>September 28th, 2015. Monday, 12:30 p.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Katya’s parents didn’t say much about the Chad incident when she got home from school that day. They had surely gotten the call from an exasperated Mother Latrice telling them to control their daughter and that this was the last warning before a suspension. She’s sure they were pissed - George could barely sit still during dinner and Irina did not offer her tea afterward. Later that night, when Katya was sitting at her desk typing aimlessly, trying to convey her feelings into words for Dolly, her mother knocked at the door and entered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How’s your hand?” She asked, no Russian pet name. Katya shut her laptop closed and examined her knuckles. They were starting to bruise, reddish. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll live,” Katya responded, turning to her mom. “You should worry about his face, though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her mom didn’t like it. They had a long chat about how she needs to have more control over her emotions and how hitting people puts her in a bad position, the same thing she’d discussed with Mrs. Michaels. Irina made her agree that she would never hit anyone at school again, and Katya promised she wouldn’t. Though the question was asked, the real reason why Katya punched Chad was stuck in her throat and didn’t muster enough courage to find its way up and out of her mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thought has been haunting her since then. Her parents are already broken over Brooke’s death, as anyone in their position would be, imagine, just imagine what kind of unmendable rapture knowing what Chad said about their deceased daughter would tear open. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Your daughter is dead, she’s also a slut</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Katya shivers. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>. A million questions swarm through her brain. Why would he even call her that, out of all things? Is it because he is nothing but a white guy who knows a very limited number of words, or is there a reason behind it? What was Brooke not telling her? And, most importantly, what does Chad get out of this?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s up to something. Has been with Brooke, is now with Katya. She doesn’t sleep very well during the weekend, almost wishing she could call Dolly again and escape to that beautiful, warm world of their own so she doesn’t have to think about Chad anymore. Instead, she writes. She writes more words than she has ever learned how to count and every time she presses </span>
  <em>
    <span>send</span>
  </em>
  <span> the weight on her back becomes a little bit lighter, but the spinning inside of her brain continues just the same.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On Monday, Katya skips class the whole day, hiding in the old locker room behind the tennis court. She has to shoo away a couple of sophomores who thought they were being sneaky, but no one else bothers her there. In fact, a weird-looking bug stops right next to her and they simply sit in silence for a few hours. In its respect, she decides not to smoke. She names the bug Svetlana and sends a detailed biography, picture included, to Dolly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Along with that, she drafts five other emails to Dolly, but sends only two and resists the temptation to send her a text. She wants to, but she knows she shouldn’t. Dolly has made it abundantly clear that texting is too much, that she doesn’t want it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Keep your dick in your pants, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Katya tells herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her first response comes at lunchtime.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m very smart, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dolly writes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>but I don’t want to fool you into thinking I have every answer in the world under my belt. I mean, there are some amazing things under my belt, wink wink, but right now I’m not sure what to tell you. C went too far. Saying those kinds of things about anyone is never an okay thing to do, especially not in your situation. I think you’re right to have punched him, I think your parents and Mrs. Michaels think so too, but of course they can’t let you know that because they’re right when they say it puts you in a bad spot. It does. Have you considered talking to Mrs. Michaels about it? I know you don’t like her very much, but it is literally her job to help you. Plus, if she doesn’t help you, take her the fuck down too. If a jock couldn’t take you, an old woman won’t either. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya laughs. Though that is true, she has little to no desire to punch Mrs. Michaels - she may be an old hag, but she’s a nice old hag. On the floor, she lies back against a metal locker with chipped paint and sighs, banging her head against it twice. Her heart is already settling back into its normal rhythm. The day has passed by very slowly, as time does whenever she is not talking to Dolly. The air around her always seems so thick and the minutes won’t pass until she reads </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Jodie </span>
  </em>
  <span>on the cracked screen of her phone. She smiles when a wave of memories from the weekend before emerges and she can picture the position of every star in the sky that night. They spelled out Dolly’s name. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m an idiot,” she tells Svetlana. It doesn’t answer. “I wish I was a bug like you sometimes, but I’m a bug with complicated emotions. You’re just gonna sit here all day and then maybe go walk on the grass next to the tennis court. I’ll pine over a girl who thinks I want to be her friend and talk to an old bitch about why I punched the guy who called my dead sister a whore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a sigh, she grabs her backpack and stands up. When she finds Mrs. Michaels’ office, she enters without knocking. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>September 28th, 2015. Monday, 07:12 p.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The talk with Mrs. Michales goes way more smoothly than Katya had anticipated, and she finally realizes why she was supposed to have been doing this weekly. She might start actually showing up to her appointments. It does, though, bring back some memories of Brooke, so she decides to go to the only place that is still theirs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stops in front of a store’s window to tighten her pigtails before walking in. The last time she’s been to The Screen Queen she wore them low, today they are high. The cold breeze forced her to wear a pair of dark heavy jeans with her boots instead of her usual fishnets and skirt, but her blackened eyes and red lips are still there. All of her band t-shirts were dirty, so she had to wear a plain white one today. It’s not bad, but it definitely doesn’t look as punk as she’d like it to. Huh. Maybe the bruised knuckles can help with that. She cleans a smudge near her mouth with her thumb, and yes, even though she’s wearing all this makeup and even did her hair, she’s only here because of Brooke. Watching the popcorn girl through the glass door before walking in does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> make her heart race.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greeting Shangie is always a flash of smiles and kind words, but on the inside she’s already shaking. Katya knew from day one that she didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have to</span>
  </em>
  <span> interact with Trixie, she could very well have simply walked into the screening room and that would have been the end of it, before it even started. It wouldn’t have felt right, though. Maybe this was just her being extremely gay, but she had never seen a girl with pink hair like this before, or with such kind little almond eyes, or with such full lips. Trixie is impossible to ignore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not hard to tell that she did get herself - or even them both - into a mess, but what can she do about it, she’s always had an eye for pretty things. At first, it was Katya’s little moment of joy amidst her troubled life to watch Trixie fumble and stumble around her words, trying to figure out if the popcorn girl was affected by her charm or uncomfortable with her obvious flirting. She had always known how to flirt with boys, but it was never this fun to watch their faces twist and turn as Trixie’s does. It’s almost like her face is permanently pink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She could ask her out. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span>, in fact. Fuck, she’d turn red as a pepper, Katya could work with that. Imagining Trixie’s round little face lighting up, her mouth hanging open for a moment or two before she nods a little too enthusiastically while she probably pulls at her own fingers to distract herself from all of the things going through her head. Dolly makes her feel wanted, but Trixie makes her feel desired. She’d say yes in a heartbeat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya almost freezes. She would, wouldn’t she? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie already has her eyes stuck on her as she walks towards the concession stand, and this time Katya swallows dry instead of showing that little smile she knows she’s got. What if she didn’t say yes? It’s a possibility. What if Katya misread this entire fucking situation? Her impulse right now is to turn back around and walk right out of the movie theater. She could say no. She could tell Katya never to talk to her again. Katya’s eyes widen. She could quit her job simply to make sure she’d never see her again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi,” Trixie mutters. Katya takes a second to process it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi,” Katya attempts a smile. Ah, and there we go - the pinkening begins. A small tension grows in the space between their faces. “You good?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie nods. “Should I get you the usual?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Medium with extra butter,” Katya notes. When Trixie turns around, Katya doesn’t resist the urge to stare. The fabric of the uniform pants hug her butt a little too tightly, and Katya wonders how much of a struggle it must actually be to put them on. Her thighs might burst out at any minute. She can see the outline of her underwear. This is the best day of her life. When Trixie turns back to her, she has to blink a couple of times. “Thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The girl places the popcorn on the counter while Katya shoves her hand into her pockets looking for change. When she hands the coins to Trixie, their hands meet. It’s slight, the kind of touch that isn’t supposed to be intimate or special, but Katya immediately finds herself wanting to reach for her hand once again. Their eyes are quick to move to each other’s faces. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ask her out</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Katya thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Open your fucking mouth and ask her out</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie’s eyes burn into her own with expectation. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She’d say yes. She’d say yes. She’d say yes.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Katya opens her mouth, Trixie bites her lip. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She’d say yes.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She already has all of the words under her tongue, maybe too many words. It reminds her of someone who also has a lot of words to share.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Dolly.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>A breath escapes through her lips as she seals them back shut. Her heart beats out of rhythm and she rubs her hands down her jeans to get rid of the sweat. Katya’s mind flies right back to the middle of the night when the stars covered her entire body and she smiled so hard her cheeks hurt. Dolly’s voice has already faded from her memory, but all of her words are still there. Gulping, she twists her lips into a smile and the glow on Trixie’s face fades away with the realization. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It happens fast. Trixie tries to reach for the popcorn, probably in order to hand it to Katya, but the move is severely miscalculated. The butter wets her stomach with warmth and drips down her white shirt, staining it. Trixie’s eyes widen as the popcorn falls all over the place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck,” she says. “I’m so sorry, I… Your shirt is ruined, I’m so, so sorry, Katya…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya looks down at her shirt, stretching the fabric out with both of her hands in front of her stomach. “It’s fine, this is just an old thing I had laying around,” she smiles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll get a broom,” Shangie announces before disappearing into the hallway that Katya imagines leads to the storage. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie takes some napkins that she usually hands out with the food and leaves the back of the counter. “I’m such a mess, I really should have been more careful. You were just standing there and then bam, of course I had to fuck something up. Shit. The stain is huge, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do this at all, I’m an idiot and I totally get it if you never want to talk to me again. What was I even thinking? Well, I guess I wasn’t thinking…” Trixie rambles as she bends down, trying to wipe as much butter off as she can. Katya, taken aback by the sudden proximity, touches her arm, instantly evoking silence from her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Trixie, it’s fine. It’s just a shirt.” Trixie stands back up. Katya pretends not to notice that she’s about to cry and keeps a hold of her arm. She can almost feel the girl’s heartbeat in her wrist as she starts to hyperventilate. She smiles. “I know that my beautiful blue eyes can be distracting, mesmerizing even, it’s not your fault you got lost in them. I just can’t help it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie instantly cracks a smile and lowers her shoulders. She giggles so softly Katya barely notices it. She’s entirely made of softness. “You should be more careful. These things could cause a serious accident sometime.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Next time I’ll make sure to wear sunglasses. For your protection, of course.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie nods. “Of course.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shangie barges back in and Katya lets go of Trixie’s arm, but misses the touch right away. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She’d say yes.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Dolly.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>September 29th, 2015. Tuesday. 12:30 a.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie deletes the search history on her phone. It includes articles for “how do lesbians date” and “is it cheating if I flirt with one person while I like someone else”. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>September 30th, 2015. Wednesday, 02:35 p.m. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie’s been in a good mood for the past few days. Sure she’s just stained a pretty girl’s shirt with butter and made a fool of herself by almost having a panic attack because of it, but just the memory of Katya’s touch on her skin… It makes her float. She can feel the ghost of her fingers still lingering around her arm and they’re warm and buzzy. She smiles like a crazy woman and even greets the classmates that sit next to her in the classes she doesn’t share with Dela. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the bell rings to announce her last class of the day, she jolts up out of her chair and packs her shit into her bag like a preschooler in a back to school commercial, skipping happily out of her classroom. She notices a couple of girls staring at her in the corner of the hallway and slows down her rhythm. Two steps later, a guy and his friend give her a dirty look as she passes by the bathroom. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They know</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They know she’s gay. Somehow it’s gotten out, it’s the only viable reason. Nurse Asia must have told a teacher, who told another teacher… Or even Dela. Her own fucking best friend must have told one of her little boy crushes and now it’s spread through the whole school. Her breathing intensifies, reaching the point where she’s trying to both inhale and exhale at the same time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stops in her tracks. Looking forward, her locker is only about ten steps away from where she is. Using all of her strength, she focuses on the first one. And then the second. By the third, her heart rate has increased so much she has to choose whether to keep breathing or keep her heart beating. She freezes again, trying to find a locker where she can support herself and instinctively stretching out her arm, looking for it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Deep breaths, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she reminds herself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Deep breaths.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her nose feels clogged. The air doesn’t come in, it only goes out, and she’s losing oxygen as the seconds pass. Trixie’s legs weaken and she can’t seem to make them take one more step forward, and when she tries, her balance fails her and she falls down. One or two heads turn in her direction, a lot of mouths seem to start moving. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Damn it,” she whispers, completely out of breath. Her legs are a mess of tangles and knots and she starts breathing through her mouth a little too fast. Despite her best efforts to stand up, she doesn’t seem to muster the strength to do so. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, you alright girl?” A tall, dark-skinned girl asks from above. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Trixie responds with tears starting to flood her eyes. The first one streams out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit, you’re crying,” the girl comments. “You need help standing up?” Trixie nods and the girl kneels at her level. “I’m Jaidynn. What’s your name?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“T-Trixie,” she answers. Jaidynn offers her hand, Trixie takes it. In one swift motion, she’s back up on her feet. The girl helps her find some balance. “I can’t breathe very well right now,” she tells her in the mildest tone that she manages. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can take you to Nurse Asia, we’re not far,” Jaidyinn offers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t breathe,” Trixie repeats, voice so low that the girl frowns at her. The air seems to be caught in her throat, forming a bubble and refusing to move up or down, but the increase of her heartbeats demands more air anyway. The first shot of pain hits her chest, and it’s bitter. Trixie’s mouth is open, trying to take in as much air as she can, but it doesn’t seem to be working. “I can’t breathe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaidyinn holds Trixie like a Barbie doll in her arms, trying to support her. “Ok girl, do you think you can walk with me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie doesn’t respond but feels her feet moving along with Jaidynn’s anyway. They stop right in front of the one door she is the most familiar with in the entire school, and, by the time she sees Nurse Asia’s face, her vision is already blurry. She feels the pumping of her heart, the shots of pain through her chest, and then suddenly she feels nothing - everything goes black.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Kindness and love can take us far, yes, but do you know what angry people do? They get things done. Do what you have to do. Go to school. Go to work. Take your meds. See your doctor. Do it because you’re sick of it, do it because you know that every single time you get through a day it means you win the fight for now. And on the days when your anxiety wins, be a good loser, forgive yourself, cry about it. Then you rest, and after that, you punch first and you punch hard. </p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi everyone! I'm back and officially Covid free! Still, it hasn't been easy. Though I've had a tough time while sick, I had a speedy recovery, but if you follow me on <a href="http://galaxybrunost505.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> you have probably seen that my dad wasn't so lucky. He is currently intubated in the Intensive Care Unit due to complications because of Covid. His case is definitely severe, but he has been showing slow improvement. We have no choice but to take it one day at a time. My family is going through a difficult time right now and we appreciate every thought and prayer sent my dad's way. Thank you to those who have sent me positive and caring messages &lt;3 <br/>Thank you also to my babes <a href="http://zamo-95.tumblr.com/">Zamo-95</a> and <a href="http://fedu31.tumblr.com/">Fedu</a>, not only for the help with the fic, but for being by my side in this difficult moment. Thank you guys for reading and showing your love &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Date: October 2nd, 2015. Friday, 05:15 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: I’m back at hating my life, pew pew pew pewwww </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Jodie, </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sorry I haven’t been here in a while. I’ve been in an endless depression slump, but the idea of talking to you cheered me up a little.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Guess who passed out at school on Wednesday? Yeah, you got it - this very bitch right here. I had a sudden panic attack and this really nice girl helped me, but as soon as she got me to the nurse’s office I just fainted. It was fun. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’ve been lying in bed since then, doing nothing, staring at the dark. Right now, I’m nothing but a useless piece of sadness. I haven’t been to either school or work in the past few days. My mom is worried sick about me, but not worried enough to not go to work. She calls a lot to check on me, though, so I guess that’s enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Do you ever wish that you weren’t yourself? Being anyone else must be better than this. I’m sick of this body and this fucking brain that doesn’t work. I’m sick of giving in to how much of a failure my head is. I’m sick of this eternal cycle of feeling like shit, then thinking I’m doing better, being wrong about it, then feeling like shit again. I’m exhausted, Jodie. Is this what living my life is going to be like forever? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I don’t know how much longer I can take this. I don’t want to die, I just… I don’t want to live like this anymore. I need something else. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yours, Dolly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Date: October 2nd, 2015. Friday, 11:30 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: I missed you</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Dolly,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m so sorry this happened to you :( Still, that doesn’t mean you’re not getting better anymore. You are. Things like this happen all the time, but I promise you it doesn’t mean you’re getting any worse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now, about your question: back in middle school and the beginning of high school, when everyone still called me a dyke, hell fucking yeah. I’d sell my soul to the devil to be someone else, but I don’t think he’d want it - it’s not a particularly great soul, has its holes here and there. There’s absolutely nothing that I hated more than I hated being myself. Today? No. I’m good being me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Although this is the Jodie that cries herself to sleep way too often, drinks on school nights, and disappoints her parents all the time, it’s the same Jodie that punched fucking C to the ground until he bled from his mouth, that is learning every day how to be a better friend and a better daughter, and, most importantly, the same Jodie that makes you laugh. Some days are good and some days are bad, but I’m there for myself regardless. And so are you. Please trust me when I say I’m there for you on your bad days too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My opinion is not worth a lot, but here is a list of all of the things why I think you should keep being you:</span>
</p>
<ol>
<li><span>You’re really fucking smart</span></li>
<li><span>I don’t have to threaten you with violence to get you to help me with my homework</span></li>
<li><span>Your mom would find it extremely weird if one day she woke up and her daughter was someone else</span></li>
<li><span>D needs someone to make her smile</span></li>
<li>
<span>I need someone to make </span><em><span>me</span></em><span> smile</span>
</li>
<li><span>You make me smile every single day, even when you’re not trying to</span></li>
<li><span>I can’t remember your voice very well and I need to hear it again sometime</span></li>
<li><span>I do remember your laugh, though</span></li>
<li><span>Thinking about you laughing makes me smile too</span></li>
<li>
<span>No one else on planet Earth would come up with an email address more ridiculous than </span><a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com"><span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span></a>
</li>
<li><span>Dolly Parton would definitely miss you if you weren’t yourself</span></li>
<li><span>You make S feel good about herself</span></li>
<li><span>All of us are infinitely proud of you</span></li>
<li><span>You Physics textbook would miss you even more than Dolly Parton would, and so would the stars if you weren’t there to talk about them</span></li>
<li><span>You’re the closest thing to a soulmate I’ve ever had. Thanks for being my friend.</span></li>
</ol>
<p>
  <span>I don’t want to be selfish, but I think I’d miss out on too much if you weren’t yourself. Well, the entire world would. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One day this will all be a memory. I don’t want to mess with your expectations, but someday you will be doing so fucking well that you won’t even remember what any of this feels like. You’ll be thirty-something living in a shoebox apartment in a big city, with a nice job, a gorgeous wife, and maybe even a dog. It probably won’t be exactly how you picture it right now, but you’ll be so happy you won’t care. You’ll be healthy. You’ll wake up every day and your life will make sense. I know it doesn’t make a lot of sense right now - I feel exactly the same way -, but think of all the things we haven’t gotten around to experience just yet. The lows may be low, but the highs will put you right on top of the world, Dolly. You need to see what the world looks like from up above before you decide it’s not worth it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I don’t know if you believe me or not. Maybe I’m just lying to try and make you feel better (is it working?) and things really aren’t all that… But how will you know it? You won’t unless you get to see it, and you won’t see shit if you keep thinking that your life will forever be you feeling like shit and doing your homework. You have to get up every day and go to school because no day repeats itself and soon it will be over. You have to go to work every day to save some fucking money and get yourself out of here. You have to take your meds. You have to see your doctor. I know you’re sick of it, mental illness is exhausting, and I’d believe you if you said you couldn’t do this anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But you’ll do it either way. Your heart is sad and broken and it won’t take you forward in this miserable journey of recovery and adolescence? Fine. You don’t have to do it simply because it’s the right thing to do, you don’t have to do it just because you should. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Do it because you’re angry. If the goodness of your soul won’t take you any further, don’t rely on it. Look your anxiety in the face and tell it that it’ll get what it deserves, that it won’t get away with doing what it did to you. Who the fuck does your anxiety think it’s messing with? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It won’t be easy. Standing up for yourself like this never is easy, this bitch is going to bite your ass, but you got teeth too. Bite back. Be angry, Dolly, be furious. One thing’s for sure: your brain won’t see it coming, so take advantage of that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kindness and love can take us far, yes, but do you know what angry people do? They get things done. Do what you have to do. Go to school. Go to work. Take your meds. See your doctor. Do it because you’re sick of it, do it because you know that every single time you get through a day it means you win the fight for now. And on the days when your anxiety wins, be a good loser, forgive yourself, cry about it. Then you rest, and after that, you punch first and you punch hard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Go to school. Go to work. Take your meds. See your doctor. Asking for help counts as punching too, just so you know - and I’m really good at it. Plus, I bet you look cute when you’re angry. Use that in your favor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Love, Jodie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>October 3rd, 2015. Saturday, 02:53 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: I missed you too</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Jodie, </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thank you for lighting a fire under my ass. I’m not one to be touchy, but I could definitely give you a hug right now. I think I would even struggle to let go. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Angrily, Dolly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>October 3rd, 2015. Saturday, 05:20 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: My days are way too boring when you’re not in them. Thanks for coming back &lt;3</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Dolly,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I wish I could hug you for real. I wonder what your skin would feel like on mine - in a friendly hug, of course. A tight one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Would you ever consider another call anytime soon? We had so much fun and it was the best night I’ve had this year. Well, maybe we could even FaceTime… If you’re up for it. I have a feeling I know the answer already, but it doesn’t hurt to ask.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe it’s a good thing you say no because I have no idea what seeing your face would do to me. I’d only want to touch you more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Love, Jodie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>October 4th, 2015. Sunday, 02:47 a.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: My days are way better when you’re part of them too :)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Jodie,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’ve already had a few so forgive any typos. I’m with D tonight so I don’t believe I’ll be able to give you much attention which is a little sad to me, but I’ll live. Plus, I’m having a great time. Who knew playing drinking games in two would get </span>
  <em>
    <span>everybody</span>
  </em>
  <span> drunk. Maybe a little too drunk - I might need to go help D hold her hair up in a second, so I’ll be quick. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I mean, I’d love to do that. I loved talking to you in real-time, but I don’t think I can risk doing that again. I really, really like you, and having you in my life, but I want things to stay the way they are. I’m always one email away, maybe even one text away. FaceTiming? No. I don’t want you to see my face, it’s kinda too much for me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The best part about you is that you know everything and nothing about me at the same time. Just picture a face in your head and run with it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I hope you take it well and I don’t mean to be rude, but I wouldn’t be able to handle a yes. I’m sorry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yours, Dolly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>September 4th, 2015. Sunday, 03:15 a.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: D threw up on my carpet you have now been moved to friend #1</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Jodie,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No doesn’t mean never.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yours, Dolly. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jodie feels like a warm hug in the rain, like a soft kiss after an entire year of longing. She feels like having your face held between gentle hands before that kiss comes, and she feels like the butterflies in your stomach flying all the way up to your heart. Katya is… Different. Katya feels like a hand on the back of the neck that pulls you close enough to feel your breath against theirs, she feels like a tongue running up your neck, and like teeth, and like skin. She must taste like red lips and firm grasps on thighs, Trixie can almost feel it if she wants to.<br/>She does want to.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello &lt;3 <br/>Happy Holidays, you filthy animals! I hope you're having a nice time, and if you aren't I hope this update makes you smile a little. My dad is doing a lot better and he's already out of the ICU, which is amazing, but also means I had to spend Christmas pretty much on my own. Thank you to <a href="http://zamo-95.tumblr.com/">Zamo-95</a> and <a href="http://fedu31.tumblr.com/">Fedu</a> for being amazing friends and betas, and also for corrupting me a little. Thank you guys for reading, I hope you enjoy it!<br/>If you need anything, you can find me on <a href="http://galaxybrunost505.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>!</p>
<p>P.S.: I heard y'all wanted some smut... Happy Holidays indeed.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>October 5th, 2015. Monday, 07:20 p.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie’s days have been passing by slowly ever since she’s had the panic attack. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nurse Asia didn’t like that one bit, so she called Trixie’s mom and they had to go to the doctor and get her a higher dosage of her anxiety medicine. It felt like a defeat, and Trixie hates losing. She cried on the way home and her mom offered to stop by the only McDonald’s they have in town to get something to eat, but Trixie said no. Having a higher dosage means having a higher price, so it didn’t feel right to spend her mother’s money on comfort fast food. Nina parked the car and got them two Big Macs anyway. Trixie enjoyed it like it was her last meal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Trixie said between bites. “I was supposed to be getting better.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nina smiled at her. “The only thing you’re supposed to be doing is eating your burger.” Trixie smiled back. “I know it feels rough, Trix, but I promise you that you are way better off than you think you are. I see that. You’re having a good time at work, your grades are perfect and you’re even playing your guitar again. I know how much all of that means to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What if I can’t keep that up?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can, I know you can,” Nina reached out to touch her shoulder. “But if you do feel like you can’t, you can come talk to me about it, or to Nurse Asia if I’m not around. We’ll figure it out as you go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hate being such a bother,” Trixie confessed. “You always end up going out of your way to help pick me back up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re my daughter, Beatrice. My only child, the best thing in my life. I’ll do anything in my power to make you feel like you deserve all the love that I give you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was an emotional moment. Crying in a car while eating McDonald’s might not be a person’s traditional idea of mother-daughter bonding, but Trixie wouldn’t have it any other way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Getting drunk with Dela on the weekend was a good idea until her friend started to feel sick and made a mess on the living room carpet, which Trixie had to wash at four in the morning after tucking her in. She pretended that the last email she sent to Jodie never existed in order to keep her peace, and thankfully, Jodie seems to be understanding enough not to have brought it up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie guesses this is what friends do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thought makes her roll her eyes, but thankfully Shangie doesn’t ask about it. They both have been tiptoeing around the Katya thing, since their last encounter was, at the very least, awkward. She’s thankful for how understanding her co-worker is, knowing that her anxiety has already been peaking the last few days and that bringing up this incident wouldn’t be the best idea at the moment. Later that day, she thought about sending Jodie an email telling her what happened but decided against it while her fingers were already brushing over the keyboard. It would be an interesting idea to tell Jodie about this other girl and watch her reaction to it. A smirk crosses her lips as she imagines the jealousy springing warmly in the other girl’s chest, the defensive words, or the excessive questioning that might come with it in the emails. What a nice thought to have, but then again, Trixie realizes, for all she knows Jodie might simply not care. Fuck, she might be </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy </span>
  </em>
  <span>about it. Disgusting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sighs, supporting her chin on her hands over the counter. Her heart beats a little slower. There are risks Trixie’s willing to take and losing this friendship over a crush is not one of them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A crush</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Trixie thinks with disdain, </span>
  <em>
    <span>what a stupid word</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Jodie’s definitely not just a friend anymore, but Trixie hasn’t quite figured out what she is yet. Maybe she’s two steps to the right from being a crush. She shakes her head and grunts as lowly as she can. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Katya. Think about Katya</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Katya is surely not her friend either, but in a good way. She’s flirtatious, funny, and mysterious, not to mention that she’s also a hot piece of ass. She makes Trixie nervous to that exact point between uncomfortable and daring, it’s thrilling, it’s exciting, it’s… Fun. Trixie thinks of Dela, of her advice about letting herself have some fun. Katya could give her exactly that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fixing her posture, she stands tall and whistles at Shangie. She’s gonna regret this anyway, so she might as well enjoy the fucking ride. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Shangie lifts her head up from her phone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t laugh,” Trixie points at her. Shangie puts both hands up in a peace offer. Trixie keeps an eyebrow raised anyway. “I need you to tell me everything you know about Katya.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I knew this day would come,” she claps her hands together and Trixie resists the urge to laugh. “I don’t know how much I can help, though, but I’ll try my best. Ok: she goes to Sacred Heart of Jesus School, I think she might be a junior or a sophomore, I liked her hair better when it was shoulder-length… And last year every time she came here she was with another girl.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie’s eyes widen. “Oh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, I think it was her sister, but she might have gone off to college because I’ve never seen her again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘It makes sense. Do you remember her name?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shangie furrows her brow. “Something with a B? Brenda, maybe? It was very white, but I can’t remember it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I ask what made you so interested?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie clears her throat. “I am making… Considerations. Considerations that happen to involve Katya.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I see,” Shangie laughs. “Are you thinking about asking her out?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t go that far… It’s more like now I’m expecting her to ask </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> out.” She shrugs. “I think I’ll say yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as she closes her mouth and before Shangie can make any funny comments, the door opens, and in walks Katya. Trixie immediately places her hands over her mouth, but it doesn’t stop her laughter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Like they had agreed, Katya is wearing sunglasses. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>October 5th, 2015. Monday, 11:53 p.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie walked home with a smile on her face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seeing Katya tonight was amazing and Trixie didn’t even try to mask her blushing when they talked by the concession stand counter and she even asked Katya not to wear sunglasses anymore because she likes looking into her eyes. It was the other girl’s turn to blush. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart still feels giddy as she scrolls through her phone in bed, deciding it’s time to sleep. She tosses and turns for a while before her mind starts wandering back and forth between Katya and Jodie. Opening her eyes in the dark, she sighs. Jodie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck, it’s painful to even think about her, about how she wants to be anything but her friend, be able to feel the touch of her skin, and hear her voice again, which has by now faded in the back of her memory. Even though she is somehow so out of reach, Jodie is real in ways that Katya isn’t and that’s what keeps bringing her back to this every single time. Talking to Jodie is genuinely what Trixie thinks falling in love feels like, and Katya is not the same, Katya is something else. She lights a different kind of fire inside of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jodie feels like a warm hug in the rain, like a soft kiss after an entire year of longing. She feels like having your face held between gentle hands before that kiss comes, and she feels like the butterflies in your stomach flying all the way up to your heart. Katya is… Different. Katya feels like a hand on the back of the neck that pulls you close enough to feel your breath against theirs, she feels like a tongue running up your neck, and like teeth, and like skin. She must taste like red lips and firm grasps on thighs, Trixie can almost feel it if she wants to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She does want to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Locking her phone and placing it on her bedside table, she slithers her hands down to her thighs and grabs them so firmly she sinks her nails into the skin. She squeezes and rubs the inner parts, first with a nearly ghostly touch, then with a certain roughness. Katya could kiss her thighs, or bite them and leave a mark. The idea sends a chill up Trixie’s spine. The mental image of hickeys up and down her thighs along with red stains from Katya’s lipstick are enough to send her into it fully, to the point of no return. Fuck, she bets it would sting to have Katya’s teeth digging into her skin while her hands make their way around, floating higher and higher until they reach the one spot Trixie would need her to touch at this point. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A smirk grows on her lips. Yeah, Katya wouldn’t simply give it to her so easily. She’d probably take her time to tease her a little more, moving all the way up to her breasts and her neck. Trixie’s hands follow her imagination. She squeezes her tits and pinches her nipples under her shirt a little too forcefully, biting down on her lower lip. Her hands are feisty enough to start going from her boobs back to her thighs then back up again. She imagines all the things Katya would whisper in her ear. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I'm going to fuck you so hard. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She moans. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll eat you out until there’s nothing left. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She moans. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re mine</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Her hands travel down into her shorts. She can feel her wetness through her underwear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her fingers tread lightly over her panties, but she buries the heel of her hand on the right spot over and over again until she can’t take it anymore and slips them under the fabric, skin against skin, but all her own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie has no patience to tease herself any further, so she rubs circles on her clit roughly, using her other hand to cover her mouth. Her eyes are shut tight and the only thing she sees is a mop of messy blonde hair between her thighs. She thinks about the feeling of Katya’s tongue running up and down her folds, spoiling her with kisses and sucking on the very right spot, the vibrations of Katya’s moaning traveling all the way up her spine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When her orgasm crashes, she grunts into her hand and bucks her hips up and down, picking up speed and friction with her hand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Katya</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thinks. She wants to moan it and scream it, but the thought remains inside of her head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Katya.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Breathing heavily, she gets her hand out of her panties and places it on her chest, feeling the beat of her heart. She feels little shocks pulsing through her veins and breathes out a smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I guess this is what Katya feels like, then</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>You’re one of my best friends, Jodie, but there are some things I’m still trying to figure out before I can pull you into this mess for real. I’m sure it’s nothing you couldn’t handle, but I’m learning how to handle it myself, and I guess I need this time. I don’t really want to tell you much about it, but basically… What I want is to make sure we’re friends. And that we’ll stay friends. <br/>Yours, Dolly. </p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy New Year everyone! I hope y'all have a great 2021!<br/>My dad is back home from the hospital and doing well, thanks everyone who asked me about it! Thanks also to mis amores <a href="http://zamo-95.tumblr.com/">Zamo-95</a> and <a href="http://fedu31.tumblr.com/">Fedu</a> for being by my side every step of the way, and to you lovelies who keep up with this story! I hope you enjoy this chapter and if you need anything, you can find me on <a href="http://galaxybrunost505.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Date: October 10th, 2015. Friday, 04:17 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: Good news :)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Jodie,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Guess!!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I just finished writing the song for you!! I can’t remember if I told you the name, but it’s called Little Sister! I couldn’t quite figure out what to write in the beginning of it because I don’t know that much about your family life, so I put in some of my family life too, hope you don’t mind… Anyway, I’m sending the lyrics straight from my notebook here and you can read them :) I’ll record and send you the song later!!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I hope you like it &lt;3 </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yours, Dolly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Attachment: lyrics.jpeg</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Date: October 11th, 2015. Saturday, 09:13 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: RE: Good news :)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Dolly, </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’ve had a rough week so you have no idea how much this just brightened my day! </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I love, love the lyrics! It’s nice to see a bit about your life in it too, but it still hits way too close to home… I’ll make sure to learn the entire thing and I can’t wait to hear you sing it &lt;3 Maybe if we both belt it loud enough from our houses we can hear each other, right? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, that one part that you wrote “I know that you think that you’re growing, but you’re just tall” feels just like something Brooke would say to me. I miss her, so, so much, especially on the bad days, but then things like this happen and it feels like she’s right here next to me. Remember our talk on the phone? I think she’ll exist a little more every time I listen to this song. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You’re the best, Dolly. I can’t ever thank you enough for being my friend. &lt;3</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Love, Jodie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Date: October 15th, 2015. Thursday, 05:15 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: Get your fucking earphones!!</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Jodie, </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Here is the song :) I hope you enjoy it!! Sorry it took me so long, but I’ve recorded this a hundred times before I felt it was good enough for you to hear it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m very thankful for you too, Jodie &lt;3 I can’t imagine my life without you in it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yours, Dolly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Attachment: little_sister.mp3</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Date: October 16th, 2015. Friday, 11:38 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: Get me an ambulance because I’ve DIED!</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Dolly,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I have no words. Hearing you sing is the auditory equivalent of when you smell a flower for the first time, or that feeling you get after exercising, the fucking endorphins are everywhere. I melt whenever I hear you sing. I melt whenever I hear from you, but oh well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Please don’t take this as me pressuring you into meeting in person, but fuck, I really, really wish I could hug you right now, more than ever. Just feeling you against my arms, just to know you’re real, that the person - the friend - who makes me feel all of these emotions is really there. I’d hold you so tight you’d have trouble breathing, probably. I’d whisper “thank you” a million times so close to your neck that you’d barely be able to hear it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not only you helped bring back the memory of my sister with this song, but you make me feel alive too. You make me </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’ve been so numb and then when I talk to you fireworks go off inside of me. How can you do this to me? Fuck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Love, Jodie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Date: October 17th, 2015. Saturday, 02:15 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: *virtual hug*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Jodie, </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m glad you liked the song &lt;3  It means a lot to me and I’m happy to have fulfilled my goal, which is to make </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> happy. I’m sure that’s all Brooke would want. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I think about hugging you as well. I’d like to be held by you just like you described. I don’t think I’ve ever been this close to anyone physically and maybe you’d be the person for it. But you know, I think someday we could do it. Meet, or FaceTime or something. Just not for now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You’re one of my best friends, Jodie, but there are some things I’m still trying to figure out before I can pull you into this mess for real. I’m sure it’s nothing you couldn’t handle, but I’m learning how to handle it myself, and I guess I need this time. I don’t really want to tell you much about it, but basically… What I want is to make sure we’re friends. And that we’ll stay friends. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yours, Dolly. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Katya knits her eyebrows together, paying closer attention to Trixie’s humming. For a moment she tries to recall if she heard it in Gigi’s car on their way to school in the morning or if it might have been on her Spotify Discover playlist a couple of weeks ago, but no, it’s not that. A waterfall springs from her chest with a little stupid thought, so stupid it makes her hold back a snicker. <br/>But it can’t be.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello everyone! Hope your 2021 has been okay so far &lt;3 This fic is a slow burn, but this chapter is when the ~burn~ starts sooooooo... Gracias a mis amores <a href="http://zamo-95.tumblr.com/">Zamo-95</a> and <a href="http://fedu31.tumblr.com/">Fedu</a> for everything they do for this fic and for being amazing friends too &lt;3 Thank you guys so much for reading and commenting! I hope you're enjoying the story, but any complaints you might have will be taken at my <a href="http://galaxybrunost505.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>! &lt;33</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>October 18th, 2015. Sunday, 06:33 p.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Katya doesn’t want to admit that she’s been avoiding her emails, but the fact that she shoved her phone under her pillow and then left running to Gigi’s house isn’t helping her. By the time she’s back home and ready to face the music, she sits down at her desk and turns on her laptop. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Dolly</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she writes. It becomes the usual mesh of beautiful words and constrained feelings she usually puts out into the world, all of it pouring from her fingers like rain. She types nonstop for a number of minutes, barely breathing to be able to keep up with the rhythm. The clacking sounds of her keyboard seem to be working faster than her brain because when she finishes the last line and exhales, everything inside of her freezes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I think I’m falling in love with you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a moment she ponders. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I could</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thinks, biting her lip. She scans the screen one more time, her heartbeat starting to pick up speed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It would be the honest thing to do.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya gulps. She wants to say it, she longs to say it. How many more pretty words will it take for Dolly to figure it out on her own anyway? How many more starry nights? How many more phone calls? She rests her elbows on the desk and holds her face with both hands. In an ideal world, being able to look Dolly in the eye while she says it might help calm her nerves. She’d say “I think I’m falling in love with you” and then Dolly would say “me too” and then her heart would melt into a small puddle and stay there, for it would never get over Dolly saying that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She grunts. Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. Her head is starting to wander into uncharted dumb bitch territory and she can’t keep up with that. She doesn’t seem to have a choice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya deletes the line. Honesty can kiss her ass for now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>October 25th, 2015. Sunday, 01:15 a.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jodie has been acting weird. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By that Trixie means that she has barely been saying anything on their emails, but rather only replying to what she sends in a dry monotone, as dry as a couple of pixels on a screen can get. The voice of reason in the back of her mind says it’s probably nothing. Maybe she’s just going through something with her family again or school has gotten tough. There are at least a million reasons why Jodie would act like this that don’t involve how much she hates Trixie… Right?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, the dumber, yet louder, part of her brain seems to disagree. Trixie must have pissed her off somehow, she just needs to figure out. She spent the entire day reading back through their emails, trying to spot any tiny misuse of a word or anything that could be triggering for some reason, but there’s nothing. There’s affection and there’s a ton, a fuckton of closeted feelings Trixie tries her best to keep down, but she’s not sure how much longer they could stay undercover. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She considers asking but decides against it. Maybe she shouldn’t press it any further and should give Jodie her space. Jodie seems like the type of person who needs to be on their own for a while before they come forward with what’s bothering them. They’ll be fine. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>October 26th, 2015. Monday, 12:15 p.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dela makes it easy for her not to think about Jodie and whatever it is (or isn’t) going on between them. They share their lunchtime under the bleachers, right next to the stoners who are always there. If Trixie were there alone, they probably wouldn’t let her stay, but everyone’s been a little afraid of Dela ever since those rumors about her being a vampire came out, so they should be fine. She doesn’t even catch herself humming to the tune of Little Sister.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, so,” Dela raises her eyebrows between bites of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “I have to ask you something, but you have to promise you’ll say yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie rolls her eyes and lets her back fall against the grass with a thud and a grunt. “I can’t, I’m dead.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dela pulls her back up by the hand. “You don’t even know what it is yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t, but you’re making that face you always do when we’re about to get in trouble,” Trixie whines. “I really don’t feel like that at all, D.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’ll only be trouble if you make it trouble,” Dela wiggles her brows, and her teeth peek out from behind her black lips. Trixie sighs. “Trust me, you’ll be fine. I promise, I promise you’ll have fun.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have fun? Me?” Trixie shakes her head. “I think the fuck not. I’m not into fun. I’m into staying at home and praying for </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> sins.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The girls giggle, and when the stoners give them a threatening look, Dela hisses at them. It seems to work. She looks back at Trixie with promising eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So… There’s this party…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A Halloween party,” Dela tries.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie reconsiders. “Maybe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dela claps like a little child. “That’s a yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie smiles. Her head runs back to the email in which Jodie made her promise she’d go to the next party to which Dela invited her. “Yes.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>That bitch</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thinks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This kid from the Catholic school is throwing it, what’s his name again… Brad? Matt? Chad? Something like that. Very white, I know,” she grits her teeth. “But it’s the rich kids. They’re dumb, they’re probably gonna be high and won’t even notice we’re there, and we get free booze, maybe free weed. If you’re nasty I’m sure they have acid too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dela I’m not doing acid,” Trixie warns her. “And neither are you, just for the record.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine, mom, whatever.” Dela laughs. “Um… So…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh no,” Trixie whispers. She reaches towards her water bottle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Levi is kinda gonna be there too,” Dela smiles. “And I was thinking this was the perfect opportunity for you to ask your girl out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Which girl?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dela shrugs. “Whichever one you want, you unstoppable sex machine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie spits out her water in laughter. “That was an amazing one,” she admits with a defeated smile. She clears her throat. “I mean…” She sighs. Ugh. Trixie hides her face between her hands. “Jodie and I are kinda… Weird right now. I guess I could invite Katya.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened with you and Jodie? Do I need to curse anyone?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure it’s fine, she’s just been… Distant. It’s probably something at home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh no,” Dela frowns. “I’m sorry. I know how much she means to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Trixie says. “It’s cool though. Maybe I just need to get my head off of it and just… Ask Katya out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What have you got to lose?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie thinks. “You know what? Nothing. I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> to lose.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>October 27th, 2015. Tuesday, 07:13 p.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Katya knows, she knows she shouldn’t be acting like this. Dolly deserves more, Dolly deserves the truth, but she cannot handle that right now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What Katya </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> handle, what she needs right now is a break from all of this. Her head spins a little too fast whenever she thinks about this and maybe, maybe a little crush on her internet friend shouldn’t fucking overwhelm her like this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I think I’m falling in love with you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words send shivers down her spine. “Fuck,” she groans. “This needs to fucking stop.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She knows what she has to do. It’s not nice and maybe it’s unethical and morally wrong, but right now she needs to see Trixie. She needs to remind herself that the world is still fucking spinning and that listening to Little Sister every night after she’s done ignoring Dolly won’t do shit for her. So she gets up out of her bed and she grabs a sweater and she swabs on her red lipstick and she goes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie is already looking at her when she opens the door, and she barely gives Shangela two seconds of her attention before walking over to her. She doesn’t even know what she’s doing yet, but when Trixie smiles, she forgets to care about it. She forgets she’s here. Her heart tumbles and falls and she knows she’s in the right place, at the right time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi,” she offers a smile. Trixie takes it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi.” The girl pushes a strand of her behind her ear, but almost knocks her glasses off in the process. “I… Can I talk to you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure,” Katya affirms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not… Now. When the movie ends?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Should I stop by then?” Trixie nods. “Okay. What is it about?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t tell you,” Trixie pinkens. “If I do, what else will you think about for the next two hours?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Touché. Could you get me my usual so I can stress-eat until it’s time to see you again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya goes in to watch the movie. There’s a couple sitting on the back row and she makes a point to sit in the very middle of the seats. The movie takes around 67 months to be over. A swarm of words circle her brain, wondering what she could possibly want. By the time she exits the screening room, Trixie’s the only one in the lounge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where’s Shangie?” Katya asks as the couple makes their way out the door. They’re truly on their own now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She left early, so I gotta take care of the trash now,” she nods. “Not you. The other trash,” she points at the black bags behind her in the counter. “I mean, you’re not trash. Fuck, okay. I’ll stop talking.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you said you wanted to talk to me after the film,” Katya teases. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do. I… I really wanted to see you today,” Trixie blurts. Katya likes to believe she doesn’t blush.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You did?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You go to the Catholic school right?” Katya nods. “My friend told me about this… Halloween party that’s gonna go down. Some rich ass is throwing it,” Trixie babbles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, Chad. He’s a real ass.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, you know him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A little more than I’d like to,” she grunts. “But yeah, are you going with your… Friend?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly, Trixie seems unsure of her words. “No. I mean, a little. Well, no,” she frowns. “Her little boytoy is gonna be there, but she invited me to go and I made a promise that I’d go to the next party she invited me to, and this was it, so now I have to go, but she’ll be running around with her boy most of the time so we won’t really be together and then I was thinking that… I’m rambling, aren’t I?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya nods. “It’s fine, I’m following, but I do have the attention span of a three-year-old, so I don’t know how much longer I can take.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie laughs softly. “I uh… I’ll just say it.” Katya encourages her. “I’ll say it.” She slams both hands on the counter and Katya knows, she just knows this girl is about to pass out at any second. “Do you wanna go to the party with me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya smiles. “Is… Is it a date?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It doesn’t have to be if you don’t want it to be…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want it to be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You do?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do,” Trixie says, softer than she’s ever heard her before. The pink-haired beauty gulps. “I want to go on a date with you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d love to go on a date with you too,” Katya smiles. She could kiss her right now. She could jump over the counter and grab her face and plant one fat kiss on her lips. Instead, she bites her own lip. “Why don’t you… Uh, get rid of the trash? Then I could walk you home and we can talk a little more about it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie nods. “Thank you, yes. Yeah, I want that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Katya smiles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be right back,” Trixie excuses herself and takes the trash with her to the back where Katya can’t see her. She immediately grabs her phone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>NO BABY FOR MONÉT</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Russian whore: you guys are NEVER gonna believe what just happened</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Mom friend: Tell us!!</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Not mom friend: is it worth a bet?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Russian whore: totally </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When she hears Trixie coming back, she tucks her phone back in her pocket. She hears the steps and she also hears her humming. She smiles at it. It’s adorable. It sounds so carefree and relaxed, no - relieved, that is the words Katya is looking for. It sounds so relieved that for a brief instant Katya is transported to a small universe where there is nothing but the warmth inside the movie theater and the sounds of Trixie: her laughter, her voice, her humming. Trixie hums… And it’s almost like a song she already knows.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya knits her eyebrows together, paying closer attention to Trixie’s humming. For a moment she tries to recall if she heard it in Gigi’s car on their way to school in the morning or if it might have been on her Spotify Discover playlist a couple of weeks ago, but no, it’s not that. A waterfall springs from her chest with a little stupid thought, so stupid it makes her hold back a snicker. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it can’t be. Katya shakes the idea off her head. It can’t be. Nobody else knows this song, only her and Dolly. Dolly made the song for her and for Brooke. Nobody else could ever know it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie comes out and the humming continues. It’s a soft tune, softened even more by the weight of Trixie’s unmoving lips. She looks Katya in the eye and smiles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya doesn’t smile back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The waterfall crashes against all of her internal organs causing some sort of pressure damage, either that or she’s having a stroke. Her heart tries to escape through her agape lips, but she swallows it back down before Trixie gets a chance to ask what’s wrong. Trixie. Of course it’s fucking Trixie, it’s always been her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dolly had been right here the whole time, right under her nose. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tumbles backwards, trying to manage her breathing before she speaks in an effort to keep unwanted words out of her mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I think I’m falling in love with you. And it’s always been you. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wants to grab Trixie by the hand, spin her around until she lands right where Katya’s arms can hold her the tightest and kiss her until their lips turn blue and they are unable to breathe straight for an entire minute. She wants to stare into Trixie’s eyes knowing they’ve read all of the beautiful and sad and charming and traumatic things she’s written to her and wait until the realization settles into them that Katya too knows of all the things that live inside of her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I think I’m falling in love with you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she could say, and Trixie would say “me too” and both of their hearts would intertwine and stay there, appreciating the biggest truth amidst this whole thing. Trixie’s smile is slowly fading as she watches Katya’s face, but she can’t help it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya coughs.  “I… I have to go. I’m sorry, I… can’t stay, but uh… The date’s still up, though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie frowns, visibly confused. “Is everything okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, my mom just called me, I gotta go. But I’ll meet you there on Saturday, yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“O-of course.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great. Great. I gotta go,” she breathes out one last time and turns her back on the girl, racing outside. She doesn’t stop running until she’s home. When she reaches her bedroom, she slams the door and calls the group chat she has with Gigi and Monét.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before they even say anything, she starts hyperventilating. “Something just happened and I don’t know what to do,” she says to her phone. “I don’t know what the fuck to do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>She’s… Gorgeous. There’s just something about her that makes it impossible not to look at her, she turns every head in the room, including mine I guess. I wish you could see her. You’d be about as gagged as I am every time I look at her. I mean, I don’t know much about her other than the fact that she’s absolutely the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes upon, but I don’t think I have to. After all, I’m not sixteen forever.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey everyone! Hope you're all doing alright! Yes, I'm still going to make you wait to watch the burn part of the slow burn hahahaha, sorry! Thanks to my sweet baby angels <a href="http://zamo-95.tumblr.com/">Zamo-95</a> and <a href="http://fedu31.tumblr.com/">Fedu</a> for helping me out with everything and more, and thanks to you guys for reading and commenting! You can reach out to me on <a href="http://galaxybrunost505.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>! Hope you enjoy this chapter and the ones to come *eyes emoji*</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Date: October 30th, 2015. Friday 11:57 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: I’m going to my first party ever :D</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Jodie,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I know you’ve been a bit off these past few days, and I won’t ask about it. You probably want your space and I get that. I’m sorry if anything too shitty is going on :( You know you can tell me whenever you feel like it &lt;3</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I………… Have some news. I asked a girl out! Can you believe that? I can’t. I fully cannot believe I did it. But I did! And I’m proud of it! She’s… Gorgeous. There’s just something about her that makes it impossible not to look at her, she turns every head in the room, including mine I guess. I wish you could see her. You’d be about as gagged as I am every time I look at her. I mean, I don’t know much about her other than the fact that she’s absolutely the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes upon, but I don’t think I have to. After all, I’m not sixteen forever. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We’re going to meet at a Halloween party that some kid from your school is throwing. Maybe you’ll be there too, who knows? That would be funny. Oh, well. I still have to figure out a costume, hopefully D will help me out. You have no idea how excited I am. I’m finally going to my first party, to my first date… Who knows, I might even get my first kiss. Shit, since when is this my life? Anyway, I’ll try to get some sleep. I asked for the day off work tomorrow so I can go and I know S will have to handle a bit of a crowd, but she seemed so happy for me that I don’t think she minds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I guess this is what being a stupid teenager is like. I’ll make sure to drink to that tomorrow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hope you’re okay. Please send news soon &lt;3</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yours, Dolly. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Katya’s face distorts into a challenging expression. “You? A bad girl?” She shakes her head. “I don’t buy it.” She offers the cigarette to Trixie again, but instead of handing it to her, she holds it up to her lips. Trixie looks her in the eyes as she wraps her lips around it and takes another brief drag. “I think you’re not only a good girl, but you’re the best girl, you’re just hanging with the wrong crowd.”<br/>“And you’re the wrong crowd?” Katya nods. Trixie watches her, now sitting cross-legged like herself, with a smirk imprinted on her face and her hair a bit messy from lying on the ground. The stars brighten everything around her, but the dim lighting makes it hard to read her face. “Are you gonna get me in trouble?”<br/>“You’re already in trouble.” </p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>BURN, BABY, BURN! Not sure if this is where y'all expected the story to go, but, hey, it's what I got! Also, thanks for 5k hits!! My main hoes <a href="http://zamo-95.tumblr.com/">Zamo95</a> and <a href="http://fedu31.tumblr.com/">Fedu</a> are everything to me and I owe it all to them, and also to you guys who keep reading and commenting &lt;3 You can find me on <a href="http://galaxybrunost505.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>! Hope y'all enjoy this chapter &lt;3</p><p>TW: sexual assault, homophobia, mention of suicide, Chad being a little bitch and getting what he deserves. Not sad, but deals with heavy topics.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>October 31st, 2015. Saturday, 05:30 p.m.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trixie has never done this before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, Dela has been over to her house nearly every weekend for the past three years and they sometimes like to put on makeup and nice outfits just to dick around, but never for any kind of real event like tonight. This brings a lot of thoughts into Trixie’s mind because up to now, no one else really got to see the results of what two hours of makeup and cold pizza do to them, but tonight a lot of people will. Including Levi and including Katya.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dela doesn’t seem to be as nervous. The first thing she does when she gets to Trixie’s house is emptying her backpack down on her bed. Down fall a plastic bag full of makeup and brushes, Dela’s own costume (which Trixie only realizes it’s a costume after her friend says so, since it looks like literally any other clothing she owns), and a horribly tacky cheerleading uniform that once belonged to her friend’s mom. Dela looks up at her with a smirk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” Her friend screeches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dela I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> going to be a cheerleader for Halloween!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fifteen minutes later, Trixie is sitting on the ground in front of her mirror in full cheerleading gear while Dela meticulously brushes the top of her thick hair back into a ponytail, securing it with a bow. The lower layers flow graciously over her shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hate you,” she grunts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You love me,” Dela sings back to her. Trixie rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Katya is going to think I’m an idiot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miss Katya is going to think you’re a fine idiot, have you seen yourself? You look hot. You could snatch absolutely any girl at this party if you wanted to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie blushes. “Well, I don’t want that. I just want to get out alive,” she says as Dela finishes her hair with some spray. “But thanks for… Well. For everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My mission in life is to help you get the hot girl. I’ll cross oceans to make that happen.” The room is suddenly packed with laughter louder than their music. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just happy to see you getting yourself out there. I know how hard this is for you, and I’m happy I get to be a part of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiles and Dela hugs her from behind. Her friend quickly switches positions, reaching over to the bed for the makeup she brought. The bag thuds on the floor and she sits in front of Trixie with a cheap Maybelline foundation in her hand. It might be a shade too light for Trixie, but she convinces herself it will be dark enough that no one will notice if she looks like Casper the Friendly Ghost. Dela uses a sponge to press the liquid into her face while she keeps her eyes lightly shut. The blackness she sees turns into a stage for all of the things she imagines could happen tonight. She pictures herself in that ridiculous uniform that is a little too tight around her breasts with a red cup in her hand, sitting on a couch trying to cover her thighs with a cushion. Will there be any cushions? Oh god. If there aren’t any she’ll have to figure out another way of covering up all of her stuff, or people might even get a sneak peek of her underwear. Well, every house has cushions and if anything, she can simply walk upstairs and grab a pillow from a bedroom and use that to cover her lap. Unless there are people hooking up in the bedrooms. She won’t wanna walk into that, no thank you. She’ll either be a perv from showing everyone her panties or for watching people doing the devil’s tango. She can’t win. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re thinking too loud,” Dela mutters while looking for concealer. Trixie lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. “What’s on your mind?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to cover up my thighs and it might lead to me walking into people having sex,” she says. It sounds more ridiculous when it’s out in the universe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dela frowns. “I thought you’d be nervous about Katya.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, shit. That’s true. She should be nervous about Katya. “Thanks for reminding me, now there’s that too.” Her friend laughs while tapping her face with the sponge. “I mean this is both my first ever party and my first ever date. I don’t know how to act in either of these situations.” She sighs. “Maybe this was a dumb idea and I shouldn’t go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that is totally up to you. I know you’re not crazy about the outfit and that it’s a lot, so if you want we can stay home and watch Rocky Horror,” Dela says softly. Trixie opens her eyes but quickly closes them again when her friend approaches her face with a big fluffy brush full of powder. “I’m sure Katya would understand it too, she seems like a nice girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s a really nice girl,” Trixie whines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I were you, I’d go. And I’m not saying this because </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to go, I’m saying it because you don’t give yourself enough chances to be a dumb teenager and I want you to live a little, you know? Like, five years from now you’re gonna look back at tonight and you’re either going to say ‘that was my first party ever’ or ‘that night I stayed home and ate popcorn’, and both are fine, but one of them might just turn into a hell of a story to tell.” Dela shrugs. “Plus, I want to have nice moments with you. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> kill myself if I don’t get at least one epic coming of age moment with you, you limp dick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie laughs. “You have a point,” she admits. She starts thinking of all of the stories that Dela tells her from other parties she has been to, all of the teenage movies she’s ever watched, and all of the stories that one day she will be able to tell. Someone might pass out and she could take funny selfies next to them. Someone might get caught pretending to be drunk. The police could shut the party down and she’d have to run faster than she thought she could. She could have her first kiss. Her heart trembles at the thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be fine,” Trixie smiles as Dela spreads a generous amount of blush on her cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll be fine,” her friend agrees. “And you’re gonna have a good fucking time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>October 31st, 2015. Saturday, 07:55 p.m.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The darkness outside of Chad’s house makes it feel like it’s much later in the evening, especially in contrast with the blinding colorful lights coming from the inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie can’t help but take a step back once they get to the front door, taking in the magnitude of the house. This kid is, like… Proper rich. The house is the size of Trixie’s entire block. Trap Queen is blasting through the open windows and the smell of cigarette smoke is easy to catch from where they stand. She pulls her skirt down, pretty sure that half her ass is out. God bless the stupid little jacket that pairs with the uniform. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you remember our plan?” Dela elbows her. Trixie nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go inside, steal a cup, pretend you know everyone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Smart bitch.” They high-five. “I can stay with you until Katya gets here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to, you should just go meet Levi,” Trixie says. “I can behave myself for ten minutes.” Dela raises an eyebrow at her and they laugh. A group of girls dressed up as slutty Power Rangers, all linked by the arms, walk past them into the house in their own fit of giggles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go inside. First we drink, then we think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Amen,” Trixie praises. They link their own arms and walk inside with smiles on their faces, acting a little too casual about crashing a party to which none of them was officially invited.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The inside of the house smells like somebody’s dad stolen rum and Doritos. Trixie can live with that. The house is packed with punny and slutty costumes, and a few faces seem familiar to Trixie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey girl,” a voice she follows to recognize as Jaidynn’s, the girl who helped her when she passed out at school, greets her. Trixie waves back with a smile. Soon, they come across a table with drinks in the living room, and Dela claps excitedly before handing Trixie a red cup and filling it with expensive liquor someone must have sneaked out of their parents’ cabinet. She then mixes it with Sprite and tells Trixie to drink it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Liquid courage,” she says as she pours her own drink. “Should help you with the girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie doesn’t say anything, choosing to chug the drink down at once. She ignores the burning in her throat and the taste of death. By the time Dela’s finished pouring her own, Trixie hands her the cup back. “I’m gonna need all you can get me.” Dela laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s my girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They take a minute to take selfies holding their cups and a random guy joins them. Trixie finds it hilarious. The only person she’d ever been drunk around was Dela, so getting to watch other people act like idiots makes her giggle a little bit. She downs two more cups of whatever that drink was before she decides to take her first sip of water, and Dela follows her into the kitchen to get it. Once they walk in, a guy the size of a wardrobe is blocking the sink. Dela rolls her eyes and reaches up to Trixie’s ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think that’s Chad, the guy who lives here.” Trixie raises her eyebrows, watching him. He’s leaning against the sink holding a cup and dressed up as Tom Cruise in Risky Business, a white button-up shirt, black underwear, and white socks. Chad is talking a little too loudly about a boat trip he took in the summer and making exaggerated hand movements. She could gag. “I heard he’s an ass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yet you still brought me to his party,” Trixie whispers back between teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to kiss the girl or not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie looks down at her. “We can come back later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both slowly back out of the kitchen, hoping to have gone unnoticed. Hopefully, Wednesday Addams and Chubby Cheerleader aren’t costumes that usually get a lot of attention. Back in the living room, they greet some other people from their school who must have, like them, snuck their way into the party, and some of them even tell Trixie it’s nice to see her here. She smiles at that. The space around them is a little too crowded for Trixie’s taste, but the buzzing in her head makes her forget she should be uncomfortable right now. Instead, she smiles at strangers and compliments everyone’s costumes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t take long for Levi to find them. He greets Dela with a hug and introduces himself to Trixie with a smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is your costume supposed to be?” Trixie asks, slurring her words a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks down, tapping at his own shirt with a crucifix sticking out of the front pocket. “I was supposed to be a cult leader, but I guess I look like your run of the mill pastor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Same shit,” Dela says, evoking laughter in the group. Levi offers to get the girls a drink and they say yes. The very moment he leaves, Trixie elbows Dela on the ribs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He seems like a catch,” she comments. She decides to ignore Dela’s blushing before she gets a well-deserved punch in the face for pointing it out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He better be a catch, ‘cause I have no time for this bullshit,” she says. A girl with a mullet walks past them and Trixie taps her shoulder. She turns to them with a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love your costume!” Trixie exclaims with the biggest smile. Dela holds her arm, which makes it a bit difficult to reach out and touch the girl’s curly hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks! Not a lot of people know who El DeBarge is!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have no idea who that is,” Trixie smiles. The girl laughs and thanks her again before walking away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Trix? Maybe give it a break before you drink again, yeah?” Dela tells her. Trixie’s brain barely registers it, both to the loud music and the fuzzy thoughts swarming around. “Do you wanna sit down for a bit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nods and before she realizes she’s sitting on the couch. Dela stands in front of her, and when Levi finds them, she tells him to hold Trixie’s drink for now. She rolls her eyes. Things are just starting to get fun, she doesn’t get what harm another little drink could make. Trixie pouts and taps her heels together in her white Adidas, looking around. She recognizes one or two faces in the crowd, including the El DeBarge girl, who’s drinking with her friends in the corner. She can’t help but smile. That’s the nicest fucking hair she’s ever seen. Dela and Levi keep talking as they stand before her on the couch as some sort of human jail to stop her from getting out and wandering around. She looks up at them. Dela is smiling and Levi is blushing. It’s a cute sight to be seen, and her heart could sing for Dela, but it immediately makes her think of Katya.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie checks the time on her phone. It’s almost nine. She gulps. It’s late. Maybe she’s not coming. Maybe she realized what a stupid idea it was to have said yes to her and right now she’s somewhere else living her best Trixie-free life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could use that drink that Levi’s holding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Katya stumbles through the front door with Gigi and Monét beside her, the first thing she looks for is that stupid blue hat, but it’s nowhere to be found. Coming to Chad's house after she punched him in the face and he ambiguously threatened her was probably not her smartest idea, but Katya is willing to cross a few lines for a girl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And what a fucking girl that is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She spent hours, hours on the phone with her friends on the night she found out. She cried and then she laughed hysterically because sometimes she feels like a joke to the world, this very incident proving her point. Trixie and Dolly are the same person. That’s some M. Night Shyamalan shit right here. Both Gigi and Monét seemed to think that the smartest move was to tell her right away, especially considering how sensitive Dolly had been about real-life interactions and making it crystal clear that she did not want to cross that line. Katya’s heart threatened to break out of her chest every time she thought about having to tell Trixie the truth. This afternoon, as she got ready for the party, she rehearsed a million lines to herself in the mirror and then went over them with her friends on the way to Chad’s house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A frail guy, who Katya's guessing can’t be older than fifteen, walks by them holding shot glasses. She doesn’t hesitate before reaching out and snatching one right out of his hand, swallowing it down instantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, that was mine!” He complains. Katya hisses at him, showing her vampire teeth. “What the fuck,” he whispers before backing away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, now that you’re done scaring freshmen, can we talk?” Gigi asks. It’s impossible to take her seriously when she’s dressed up as Daphne from Scooby-Doo, but her face makes a point in showing she means business. Katya nods. “You’re not drinking anything else tonight, at least not for now. You’re gonna find Trixie and you’re gonna tell her everything as soon as you see her, no games.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No games,” she repeats. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know it must be hard, but you don’t have a choice here, Kat. You need to be painfully honest with her about everything,” Monét adds with a softer tone. “And if anything happens, we have our phones on us at all times. Send a text and we’ll find you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if I can do this,” Katya confesses. Gigi grabs her by the shoulders and looks her in the eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova, you make it impossible to hold too many expectations of you, but if there’s one thing you own up to is fairness. Nothing right now is more unfair than holding any information back from Trixie, especially after she told you how uncomfortable she is with this very situation. You know what you have to do, you’re gonna walk up to her, and you’re gonna do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> do it,” Gigi says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And,” Monét takes her hand. “Remember that it’s not about what you’re gonna tell her, it’s about </span>
  <em>
    <span>how </span>
  </em>
  <span>you’re gonna do it. Don’t be a creep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll do my best,” Katya blinks. She takes a deep breath and starts looking around. Her boots are so heavy that they barely allow her to walk, but she pushes through it and soon enough she’s investigating to check if she can find a mob of pink-ish hair. She frowns. “I wonder what costume she’s wearing…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gigi grunts, signaling to a corner with her chin. “What the fuck even is Double M’s costume?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mullet Methyd’s?” Monét asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More like Medical Mistake,” she raises her eyebrows. Monét rolls her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you go up to her and ask about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they start a somewhat heated discussion, Katya lets her feet guide her away from them while she looks for a familiar pair of rosy cheeks. The party is crowded enough for her to bump into several people on her way through Chad’s living room, and she doesn’t apologize to anyone. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I could use a cigarette</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thinks, licking her lips. In the background, Mars Argo sings about loving someone in the worst way and Katya feels personally victimized by whoever made the playlist. A group of slutty Power Rangers walks past her in a swarm of laughter and red cups, and right behind them, sitting on the couch, she spots… Katya squints her eyes. A cheerleader. She stops in her tracks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya had never seen Trixie wearing anything other than her work uniform. She already knew that she was hot, just not </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> hot. Trixie has her legs stretched out in front of her, clicking her heels together in socks that go all the way up to her knees, but wouldn’t go past her thighs without a fight. Katya blinks twice. Her skin was tan back in August and the beginning of September, but now it has faded back into a paler shade of white, and her thighs dominate the couch. They look like two cushions and if Katya were a little softer she’d admit that laying her head on them doesn’t seem like a bad idea. Trixie’s skirt rides ridiculously high, not leaving much room for Katya’s imagination. She recognizes the heat that climbs up her chest immediately. And talking about chests, Trixie’s cheerleading shirt is so tight around her breasts that Katya can see the entire outline of her bra, and the cups seem to be a tad bit too small since her boobs are overflowing it, spilling out from the top. Her face doesn’t seem much different than what it usually looks like, but tonight she’s wearing some glitter on it, right where her cheekbones cut the softness of her cheeks. Her eyelids are colorful, but not very well-blended. She seems to carry a fuzzy expression on her face, pouting her lips, and it doesn’t take Katya another second to realize she’s been drinking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a swift motion, Trixie turns her face and catches her there, standing and staring. She smiles and Katya waves. This is Dolly smiling at her. This is the girl who knows the deepest and darkest parts of her mind dressed up as an unintentionally slutty cheerleader. It’s so ridiculous Katya could almost laugh at it, but instead she panics. And then she does what she does best when she panics: she pretends she’s got it all under control. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trixie!” Katya smiles at her, showing off her fake fangs, and taking another step closer. Dela turns to see who’s calling her friend and immediately raises her eyebrows. Katya is gorgeous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tonight she’s dressed up as what Trixie imagines to be the youngest Cullen sister. She’s wearing her usual heavy-looking boots paired with black skinny jeans that hug her calves in a perfect fit. It’s almost a bummer, considering how much Trixie enjoys looking at her legs, even though they always have a few loose bruises scattered all over them. Her shirt is also black, but it has a V neck that cuts a little too deep, revealing just enough of her breasts, and the long sleeves open into a flare. It’s obviously borrowed, just like the red cape hanging over her back. On her neck, Trixie notices two little spots of fake blood mimicking a vampire bite. As Katya walks over to them, she removes the vampire teeth and shoves them in her pocket, wiping the spit away before doing so. Trixie laughs at that. Getting to see glimpses of Katya’s secret awkwardness is always heartwarming because it reminds her she’s not the only one who’s a bit of an idiot around girls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Trixie responds, standing up. When Katya reaches her, she’s unsure whether they should shake hands, hug, or bow to each other, so she simply keeps smiling. “This is my friend Dela, and this is Levi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dela smiles at Katya and her date does too, but the girl doesn’t seem to pay much mind to it. Trixie can almost spot the sweat running down her temple and how restless her hands seem to be. “How’s the party so far?” She asks them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s great, nobody from your school has talked to us but we’re drinking all of their alcohol and eating all of their food anyway,” Dela says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya laughs. “Chad keeps a secret stash in a drawer in his bedroom if you feel like pissing him off and stealing an entire bottle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dela wiggles her eyebrows. “Does not sound like a bad idea,” she jokes and then clears her throat. “So, Levi, should we get some drinks?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On it,” he says and offers his hand. Dela smirks before taking it and yanking him away from the other girls. As soon as they are far enough, Dela turns to Trixie and mouths something to her, but it only looks like she’s mouthing the words to the song that is playing, which makes Trixie laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your friends seem nice,” Katya says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dela is the best, but I’ve only met Levi tonight. He’s her date.” Trixie explains, whispering the last part like it’s a secret. Katya frowns at her, so she repeats it louder. “Did you bring your friends too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Katya answers. “They’re… Well, they’re somewhere, I kinda lost them when I was looking for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Trixie asks. The song that is playing now has a heavy bass sound that makes it difficult to understand what Katya is saying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said I lost them…” Katya starts, but then stops and takes a deep breath. Trixie cocks her head to the side, confused by the girl’s expression. Maybe it’s the drinks she’s had, but at the same time that Katya seems to move in slow motion, before she could anticipate it, she feels a cold hand on her shoulder and a hot breath where her ear meets her neck. Shivers roll down her body as she leans into the touch. “It’s kinda loud in here,” Katya says in a low voice, a little too close to her skin. “Do you wanna go somewhere… Quiet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya backs away from Trixie, taking a cloud of electricity with her. She can only nod. Katya extends her hand, and Trixie stares at it for a moment before taking it. The girl leads her through the sea of people all around the living room and the kitchen, then they walk all the way across the backyard. The only things Trixie feels are the leftover echo of the music ringing in her ears and the touch of Katya’s hand on hers. They come to a small path on the very corner of the yard, and Katya takes her down there, telling her to mind any small rocks that might make her trip or slip. When Katya stops, Trixie looks around. The space is barely lit by the moonlight and by a lamppost or two with dim, yellowish lights, but she can see it perfectly either way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a garden,” Trixie observes. Katya nods. She still hasn’t let go of her hand. Around them, hundreds, if not thousands of flowers bloom in the most colorful shades and the most beautiful shapes. There are trees and tall bushes and small clay pots wherever she looks, and the smell around them almost makes her sneeze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chad’s mom is into flowers,” Katya says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How many girls have you brought here before?” Trixie teases, her Wisconsin accent peeking through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the only one,”  Katya looks up trying to find her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I bet you say this to all of them.” They laugh in unison, and Trixie can’t help but notice how red Katya has turned. “How do you even know this place?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya shrugs. “I come to parties here a lot, but sometimes I just need somewhere quiet. I walked far enough and found just what I was looking for.” Her gaze is still fixed on Trixie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Letting go of her hand, Trixie takes a little stroll around the garden, stopping to smell the roses. “They’re pink,” she points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your favorite color,” Katya says, following behind her. Trixie turns to her with a smile, but she doesn’t smile back. “D-Do you want to look at the stars?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie’s heart drops all the way down to her stomach. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jodie</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thinks, but then shoos the thought away. Tonight is about Katya. The very Katya who is clearly trying very hard to impress her right now, because she’s made it obvious that she likes Trixie, unlike some people who hide behind words like “friend”. Katya isn’t hiding anything right now, and the slight trembling of her hands tells Trixie everything she needs to know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without answering, Trixie finds a spot on the grass and lies down, laughing as the world starts to spin around her a little bit. When she looks to her side, Katya is already there. “Do you like looking at the stars?” She asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Katya says, looking right at her. “I, uh… I need to talk to you about…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you know this is my first party ever?” Trixie interrupts, looking back up at the stars. “I’ve never been out like this before. I don’t even know how I worked up the courage to ask you to come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you regret it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not yet,” Trixie says. “But you can still change my mind,” she laughs. Catching her breath, she looks at Katya. “It’s also my first ever date.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya gulps. “It’s kinda my first date too, if I think about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t it nice that we get to be that for each other?” Trixie smiles. She’s been smiling so much that her cheeks hurt already. “I don’t know what I expected my first date to be like, but I don’t think I could have guessed I’d be drunk, lying on the grass at a party where I know a total of three people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time Katya smiles too. “How did you think it would be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I thought it might be at a nice cafe where I’d be able to eat all of my nerves away if it came to it. And we’d talk. And then we’d go for a stroll around the city. It could end with a kiss at my doorstep.” Trixie clears her throat while Katya stares blankly above them. “What about you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She raises her eyebrows and sighs. “I guess I’m more of a let’s lie under the stars while talking about romance kind of gal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Trixie says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I guess it could end with a kiss at your doorstep as well,” she turns to look at Trixie. This time, the pink-haired girl is the one who turns away, staring at the stars. She feels the other girl’s eyes burning on her face and her heart thumps its way into ecstasy. Her breath hitches every time her brain processes what is happening and the alcohol is starting to stabilize and wear down. “And I could take you to a cafe anytime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you’re just trying to get in my pants…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My intentions are anything but pure… Wait, I got that mixed up,” Katya laughs, and Trixie joins her, smacking her hand against the grass. “I meant to say they are nothing but pure,” she covers her face with her hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re such an idiot!” Trixie laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m always an idiot for a pretty girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see you’re also a big flirt,” Trixie comments. “I don’t know if I’m gonna fall for that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya pushes Trixie’s shoulder with a smile on her lips. “It’s hilarious that you think I don’t know you’ve already fallen for it.” For a moment, they stare at each other’s faces without saying a word. Katya’s eyes reflect the dim light of the lampposts around them, and she keeps licking her lips, removing her red lipstick a little every time she does it. “Have you, um, ever done this before? Looking at the stars like this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, once. It’s such a funny thing to do… The stars look so beautiful, so distant. They feel ethereal and enigmatic, but all I can think about when I look at them is…” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jodie</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “How they could kill us at any minute.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eta Carinae?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie turns to her with a surprised expression on her face. “Did you learn about that in Physics?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really… Someone told me about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Trixie raises her eyebrows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trixie…” She stares at the girl, blinking slowly. Suddenly, the coldness of Katya’s skin comes in contact with hers, and she looks down. Katya’s index slowly makes its way up and down the back of her hand, and in a moment of bravery, Trixie takes the girl’s hand in hers and holds it. Katya smiles. Her eyes don’t smile with her, Trixie realizes, noticing the small, confused frown forming on her face. “Do you mind if I smoke?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shakes her head. Katya sits up and shoves her hand in her pocket, pulling out a pack of Camel cigarettes and a lighter. She takes one to her mouth and lights it in a quick move, exhaling the smoke and closing her eyes. The girl hugs her knees close to her chest and holds the cigarette between two fingers on the other hand. She looks at Trixie and smiles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know you smoked. How long have you been doing it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Since last year. That’s when I started going to parties, and you know how angsty teenagers are. If it’s going to destroy my body I’m</span>
  <em>
    <span> in</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie laughs, then bites her lip. “Can I try it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya’s eyebrows shoot up. “Sure. Do you know how to do it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... No?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe I’m about to corrupt you,” she jokes. Trixie rolls her eyes. Katya turns so that now she faces Trixie and passes the cigarette to her. “Hold it between your index and your middle finger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This part I know,” Trixie says. She stares at the cigarette and notices it is stained with Katya’s red lipstick. The other girl giggles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, now you hold it between your lips - but don’t put it too far into your mouth. Just the tip, or else it gets soggy from the spit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sexy,” Trixie mutters, placing the end of the cigarette between her lips as instructed. “What now?” She asks, making the cigarette bounce up and down as she tries not to move her lips too much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now you take a drag, just suck on it.” She does. “Hold the smoke in your mouth a bit… Now take it out and inhale. Suck it all in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie coughs violently, letting the smoke out through her mouth and nostrils. Katya laughs softly, with a certain endearment, and uses her thumb to wipe away a tear that escaped Trixie’s eye amidst all the coughing. She lets her hands rest on the girl’s face, cupping her jaw with tenderness. “You okay?” Trixie nods. “You did great, I just think maybe you took too much smoke in. Wanna try again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya backs away and Trixie brings the cigarette up to her mouth again, being careful to place it between her lips, shallow enough that she won’t get it soggy. She sucks the smoke in briefly, letting it sit inside of her mouth for a bit while she gives the cigarette back to Katya. She inhales sharply and then opens her mouth, puffing the smoke out. “Did it work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It did, all of your teeth are about to fall out!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie chuckles as Katya places the cigarette between her own lips again, taking a deep drag. “I can’t believe I’m officially a bad girl now. I don’t think I’ll be doing that again, though, it tasted like butt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya’s face distorts into a challenging expression. “You? A bad girl?” She shakes her head. “I don’t buy it.” She offers the cigarette to Trixie again, but instead of handing it to her, she holds it up to her lips. Trixie looks her in the eyes as she wraps her lips around it and takes another brief drag. “I think you’re not only a good girl, but you’re the best girl, you’re just hanging with the wrong crowd.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’re the wrong crowd?” Katya nods. Trixie watches her, now sitting cross-legged like herself, with a smirk imprinted on her face and her hair a bit messy from lying on the ground. The stars brighten everything around her, but the dim lighting makes it hard to read her face. “Are you gonna get me in trouble?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re already in trouble.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, you know how to be cheesy,” Trixie says. Katya finishes up her cigarette and presses the stub against the grass until it’s completely out. “You could start a fire with that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like a Chad problem, not a me problem,” Katya fires back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fair enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya reaches for Trixie’s hand again, holding it. A cold autumn breeze flows past them and Trixie is happy to be wearing a jacket, but her thighs must be stone cold. Upon second thought, she realizes that she doesn’t want to go inside at all. “Trixie,” Katya starts. “There’s something…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never held a girl’s hand before,” Trixie spills. Katya blinks at her. “I know I’m interrupting you again, sorry, but it’s just… I think I’m still a little buzzed from what I’ve had earlier, but I… I really, really like holding your hand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If it weren’t so dark, Trixie would say her eyes tricked her into thinking Katya blushed at her words. “I had never held a girl’s hand before either, and I really like it too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are lots of things I haven’t done with a girl yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never kissed a girl before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya gulps. “I haven’t either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie’s heart quickens to the speed of light, and her breath starts to fail her. She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear and stares at Katya’s lips. They are blood red and plump. She looks back up at her eyes. It’s probably the alcohol speaking when she finally opens her mouth because she says: “I think you should kiss me right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya’s hand reaches out to cup her face again with no hesitation, and she leans into the touch. Neither of their skins are warm, but the softness of the contact between them almost heats her face. She leans closer and Katya does too, never breaking eye contact. “Can I?” Katya asks. She nods. Then, light as a feather, Katya’s lips brush against hers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She feels the butterflies in her stomach breaking out of their cages and flying through all of her organs, making permanent damage. That’s exactly what Katya is, permanent damage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not a kiss just yet, it’s simply lips touching lips. It’s Katya going slow, almost teasing her. Trixie has her eyes closed, but she can feel and hear the other girl shifting her position, and suddenly, her lower lip is caught between hers with such certainty her heart threatens to stop. The kiss is swift and slow at the same time, and Trixie lets herself fall completely into it, forgetting how cold the air feels around her and how the grass tickles her butt. Katya seems to know what she’s doing because she holds her face with just enough force to keep her in place, but delicately enough that Trixie feels how the tip of her fingers rest ever so slightly on her cheek, barely there and overly present at the same time. Soon enough, Katya slips her tongue into her mouth and she does the same, tasting alcohol and Camel cigarettes. She thought the alcohol might numb her, but she feels everything. She feels the texture of her tongue, the wax of her lipstick, and her heavy breathing. She feels Katya wanting more and she feels herself giving in to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kiss fills Trixie’s heart with clouds and everything about it feels right. She knows instantly that this is the right thing to do, the right place to be, and the right girl to choose. Katya </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants </span>
  </em>
  <span>her, she can tell by the way she trod so lightly over her lips, but then gave in to her hunger. And what hunger that is. The kiss deepens enough for Trixie to let out a small moan against Katya’s mouth, which seems to make her even more eager. Before she realizes, she’s lying on the grass again as Katya climbs on top of her, one leg on each side of one of her thighs. They stop to breathe but don’t say a word, they sit simply staring at each other’s eyes and lips, consumed by whatever this is. When Katya lowers herself to kiss her again, Trixie takes it and kisses her back like she deserves it, and like she’s wanted to for so long. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya drags the kisses down to her neck, almost startling Trixie, who bites her lip in response. “Fuck,” she whines. Katya smiles against her skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” Katya grunts, planting pecks all over her neck and collarbones. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie smiles, feeling Katya’s tongue against her neck again, and then their lips crash together once more. They kiss until Trixie’s lips are raw and they both run out of breath. Katya sits on Trixie’s thigh and she sits up, stealing a peck. She’s pretty sure whatever alcohol was left in her body is fully gone after this adrenaline shot, and she smiles while trying to catch her breath. Katya watches her with clouded eyes. There’s something about her face that Trixie can’t quite put a finger on, like she’s thinking too hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” She asks, reaching out to Katya’s face, getting her hair out of the way. “Was it bad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck no,” Katya exclaims, holding Trixie’s hand against her face. “I’m just… I’m thinking. And you know what? I’m gonna go get us some drinks, what do you say?” Trixie nods and Katya kisses her again before standing up. “Stay here, yeah? There’s some lipstick on your face, and maybe you don’t want people to see that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” Trixie mumbles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get us something to get cleaned with too, but you stay here, I’ll make it quick.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” she agrees as Katya is already leaving. Once she is out of sight, Trixie lets herself fall back on the grass, arms, and legs spread out like a starfish, and lets out a big squeal. This is the best night of her life. She breathes for a second, and for some reason, her brain tells her to get up and follow Katya. It’s starting to get a little too cold, maybe they can find somewhere else to stay. Slowly she gets up and taps off all the grass that’s stuck on her body and costume, making her way back to the path that led them to the garden.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t even think about how long it’s been since she last thought of Jodie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“глупая сука,” Katya whispers to herself, smacking her own forehead as she walks back up to the house. She takes her phone out of her pocket and shoots a text to her groupchat with the girls, claiming to have an emergency. Immediately they respond, telling her they can meet in the kitchen. She quickens her step, feeling her eyes get wet. “глупая сука,” she repeats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things have gone too far and she shouldn’t have let that happen. Her heart beats from the depth of her stomach, and she can feel the goosebumps crawling up her arms as she starts to hyperventilate. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You can’t cry now</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she tells herself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t fucking cry</span>
  </em>
  <span>. On her way up the steps that lead to Chad’s backdoor, Katya stumbles and nearly falls on a couple that’s just sitting there. “Sorry,” she mumbles, patting her knees. As soon as she opens the door, Monét is already there, waiting for her, but there is no sign of Gigi.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Girl, are you okay?” Monét asks. “What happened? Where’s Trixie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m okay, I just…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come here,” Monét leads her to the sink, where she takes a cloth and wets it slightly, rubbing it on Katya’s face. “You have lipstick all over yourself, so I take things were going well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really well,” Katya sighs. “Where is Genevieve?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Monét purses her lips. “See, I don’t wanna be </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> bitch, but someone said they saw Daphne and El DeBarge making out in the bathroom upstairs…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya immediately giggles, loosening her shoulders a little and letting a small tear escape when she relaxes her face. “Shut up! I knew there was something there!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like a cosmic coincidence, Gigi reaches them. Her lipgloss is smeared all over her face. Both Katya and Monét stare at her biting down a snicker. She rolls her eyes. “I guess you already heard about it then.” They nod. “If you say </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> word, I swear…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, G. We’ll just follow the beat of the rhythm of the night,” Monét says, pointing finger guns at her. Gigi smacks her hands down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Katya. We’re here for Katya.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need a drink,” Katya says, and moves closer to the island, with her back to the door. She finds a bottle of tequila that is half-finished and drinks straight from it, not bothering to find a cup. Gigi and Monét stand next to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened, Kat?” Gigi asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I couldn’t do it,” Katya confesses. She takes another gulp from the bottle, making an ugly face as she feels the liquid burn its way down her throat. “I couldn’t fucking tell her that I know she’s Dolly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gigi and Monét both widen their eyes and hold their breaths. Katya has no chance to ask why.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What… What did you not tell me?” Trixie asks from behind her. Katya turns around to face her, accidentally dropping the bottle. That fucking Albatraoz song is playing so loudly in the background that no one seems to notice. The lipstick situation isn’t as bad as she thought, Trixie probably rubbed it off with her own hands before coming inside, but her face is absolutely destroyed. The tears are forming in her eyes and her lip is trembling a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trixie, no, I…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie’s face becomes paler by the second. Katya tries to find her eyes, but she avoids them at all costs, looking at the ground, where the bottle lies still in one piece though some liquid has been spilled, then looking between Gigi and Monét, who hesitate even to breathe. She points at them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They knew? Did they know?” Her voice breaks. The tears stream down without any kind of fuss, leaving streaks in her foundation and messing up her eye makeup a little. Trixie’s glasses start fogging from the warmth of the tears against the cold of her skin. She doesn’t bother wiping them away. Katya nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Monét offers. Trixie shows no reaction, staring absentmindedly at the floor before finally looking at Katya.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… Katya, I don’t understand,” Trixie cries. Katya can almost feel the knot in her throat. “How long have you known?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie shakes her head, finally dragging the sleeve of her jacket across her face to wipe the tears, staining the red fabric with foundation and whatever else she has on her face. “Not long?” She asks, voice dry enough to crack while her face becomes wetter and wetter. “Well, long enough to tell your friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a slap across her face to hear Trixie say this. The tone in her voice carries no anger, only hurt. Katya swallows dry, taking a step closer to her and trying to capture the girl’s hands between hers. Trixie allows her, but she knows it won’t last long. The other girl’s breathing is irregular and heavy, but she isn’t sobbing yet. “Please, Trixie… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first weep escapes her lips and Trixie starts avoiding her eyes again. “How could you do this to me? You know,” she sobs halfway through the sentence, “you know what this meant to me, that I didn’t want my real life mixed into any of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Katya tries to wipe a tear away from her cheek, but Trixie takes a step back, unlinking their hands. “I was trying to tell you, but I just… I couldn’t do it. I’m so sorry. I know you’re hurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie covers her face with her hands, pressing them against her eyes for a second while she takes deep breaths. “I don’t know what’s happening anymore,” she laments. “Who even are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m… Me. It’s always been me.” A tear makes its way down Katya’s face. Gigi places a hand on her shoulder. “I’m the same person I’ve been all along.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You lied to me, Katya. You… You knew everything, and then you told it to </span>
  <em>
    <span>other people</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and then you didn’t tell me,” Trixie says, her breathing becoming heavier and heavier. She places a hand over her heart. Katya knows what is about to happen. “I need to get out of here,” she manages between breaths, barely audible. She takes off towards the living room, bumping into people on her way there while Katya attempts to reach her. The eyes around them start to follow the scene, just as Katya manages to grab Trixie’s arm and pull herself closer to the girl. The whispers begin, but Katya doesn’t hear them. Trixie’s makeup is completely ruined, her eyes are red, and even though there is still a hint of blush and red lipstick on her cheeks, the color has been completely drained from her face. There is grass in her hair. Katya watches the girl’s chest rise and fall a little too quickly as she takes a step closer, trying to cup her face after letting go of her arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, Trixie. I’m sorry.” Katya doesn’t realize that the music has stopped, only that she can hear Trixie’s breathing more clearly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you liked me,” Trixie says between tears, “but now I don’t even know which version of you I’m talking about.” The crowd around them goes “oooh” at her words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did! I-I do, I really, really like you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lying,” Trixie raises her voice, slapping Katya’s hand away from her face, “is not a great way of showing it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s Katya’s time to start hyperventilating, roaming her brain trying to find the right thing to say or the right thing to do, but the pressure that Trixie’s bloodshot brown eyes put her under makes it difficult for her to navigate her best choices. In a second of insane bravery and stupidity, she leans in, collapsing her lips against Trixie’s as she hears the people around them go wild. Almost instantly, Trixie pushes her away, taking several steps back and wiping her mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t ever talk to me again,” she demands. Her voice is still raised, but it continues to crack due to the tears caught in her throat. “Don’t ever fucking touch me again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya stands there, defeated, as Trixie turns around and starts pushing people out of her way, soon being swallowed by the crowd on the way to the front door. Monét places one hand over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Kat,” she says just as Gigi comes to wipe her tears. The group of people around them exchanges looks and whispers while Katya cries with her friends by her side. She sighs, letting the air out. Her head is a mess, still processing what just happened. Trixie hates her, and she just lost the two most amazing people in her life at once. Her heart cracks in half and then shatters, it is painful enough that it makes her place her hand over her chest. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This has to be a nightmare</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is what nightmares are made of</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Inside of her, every single functioning organ seems to be slowly going into failure. She can’t feel her legs. This couldn’t get any worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the middle of the crowd that swarms around her, she hears clapping. Confused, she turns just in time to watch Chad, Brad, and Matt step away from everyone else and closer to her. Chad has his phone in his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that was quite a show, Yekaterina,” he says with that smug fucking smile on his face. He smiles too confidently for a guy who’s not wearing any pants. His words are all dragged out and slurred. He’s clearly had one too many to drink. “I’m lucky I caught all of it. It was brave of you to try and kiss a girl like that, in front of everyone. Too bad she wasn’t feeling it...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking shit, Chad, could you be any more inconvenient?” Katya screams. “Shove that fucking phone up your ass before I do it for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Careful boys,” he turns to Matt and Brad, “this Kitty Kat’s got claws!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The trio laughs, Chad stepping closer to the girls. Gigi tenses up immediately, making that face she does when she’s angry. Monét pulls out her worst bitch stare. Katya wipes away another tear. “I got enough claws to break your teeth, but you knew that already.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I honest to God don’t know why you’re so angry at me all the time, baby. When I said you were a fucking dyke, I was just telling everyone the truth, wasn’t I? You just proved it right now. You’re a rotted lesbo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya crosses her arms and nods. “Sweet, because nobody knew that already.” Katya rolls her eyes. I’m all of that, it’s true. A fucking dyke. A rotted lesbo. And what are you, exactly? The guy who thinks he could fuck the gay out of me? You’re gonna have to try harder than that if you want to get anywhere near hurting my feelings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I wanted to hurt your feelings, all I’d have to do is dye my hair pink and gain 50 pounds of pure fat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Watch your fucking mouth,” Katya yells, taking a step closer to him. “Do not go there, Chad. You know </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> of this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He unlocks his phone, raising an eyebrow at the video playing. Katya can hear her and Trixie’s dialogue repeating like a broken record. “I think I know enough. Hell, everybody here knows enough. Not only you’re a sick gay fuck, but you’re also terrible at it.” Katya grunts. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sounds like something I’d say myself. This bitch has a point. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Chad sighs. “You’re a trainwreck, Yekaterina.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m </span>
  </em>
  <span>a trainwreck?” Katya scoffs. “You say that knowing full well that your only past time is exposing people, you creepy fuck. Nobody cares about your weird fetish of filming people in bad situations, Chad. What the fuck is wrong with you?” She screams. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know someone who cared,” he says, running his tongue over his teeth. “She was… </span>
  <em>
    <span>The </span>
  </em>
  <span>most annoying bitch I’ve ever met. You’re a close second.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya’s entire body freezes. “Don’t bring her into this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s already in it, baby. She always has been.” Katya’s eyebrows knit together and she shakes her head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What is that even supposed to mean?</span>
  </em>
  <span>  “See, your sister knew… Too much. Brooke could be very nosy when she wanted to. And, in true Brooke Lynn fashion, she threatened to expose </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Now, I couldn’t take that, could I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck did you do to her?” It’s almost a whisper, and half of it gets caught in her throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brooke, Brooke, Brooke… I knew a lot about her. She was the kind of girl who never said no, ask anyone on the football team. Of course she and I had our little falling outs, but, lucky for me, she was a lightweight. Two shots in and she was out of her mind. It doesn’t take much to convince a drunk girl to do what you want. It takes a whisper in her ear, it takes a trip up to the bedroom, and it takes shutting her little slut mouth before she can change her mind.” He huffs, thumbing through his phone. “The thing about Brooke is that she found out something about me that shouldn’t have gotten anywhere near her, but she was smart, I’ll give her that, she had her ways. Her threats did scare me. She used big words like ‘lawyers’ and ‘police’... I didn’t like that at all. It was self-defense, you see?” Katya swallows as Chad turns his phone to her. He presses play on a video, and it is painfully loud. Even if she weren’t watching, she would clearly be able to make out a bed creaking and… Moaning. She closes her eyes immediately, but not fast enough not to catch any glimpses of it. In a split second, she can see Brooke’s face, smudged makeup all over it, and her entire body exposed, breasts bouncing along with it. She doesn’t see who’s under her, but she knows it’s Chad. Katya feels a twinge of pain in her chest that blocks the air from going into her lungs and the shame crawling up her neck. “And just like that I had something to use against her too. Let’s just say she didn’t take it too well,” he mimics cutting his neck. His breath smells like alcohol. She’s well aware he’s way too drunk to understand what he’s doing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya smacks the phone out of his hand, letting it fall to the floor. Without thinking twice, feeling pure adrenaline and rage boiling her blood, she steps on it until she hears it crack. Chad laughs. “You’re fucked up,” she tells him, and even though she wants to, she doesn’t cry. “You’re a pig.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oink, bitch,” he challenges her. “I’ve done this once before to you. Brooke being dead doesn’t stop me from doing it to her. And I can do it to you… Again. And I’ll get away with it, just like I did last year. How will your parents feel knowing one of their daughters is a decomposed slut and the other is a disgusting little dyke?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t even have time to register what he says before a purple flash passes by her like lightning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gigi punches first. She’s already tall, but the white heeled boots she’s wearing make her the perfect height to get Chad’s eye just right. Her skinny arms don’t seem to be ready to give out at any time as she continues consistently punching, slapping, and pulling Chad’s hair. Katya swears she sees Gigi bite him too, but decides not to comment on it. Using her size to her advantage, she jumps on his back and wraps her legs around his waist, choking his neck with her arms. Monét takes the phone from the floor and throws it against a wall, just to make sure it’s really broken before kicking Chad on the shin and groin repeatedly. Around them, the crowd cheers for… Well, it’s a fight, they’re just excited to watch someone get fucked up. The chanting of “fight, fight, fight” seems to fuel the girls’ rage even more. Matt and Brad chant along, seemingly uninterested in helping their friend out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Feels good to get beat up by a dyke, Chad?” Katya yells at him, making more pressure with her arms, but releasing soon. “Feels good to know you can’t get rid of Brooke coming for you? You’re gonna get what you deserve if it’s the last thing I do, you asshole.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yo, the police are here!” Someone yells. The group around them immediately starts fleeing, dissipating like ants running from the bug spray. Chad falls to the floor, taking Katya down with him, and the pain of the fall rolls like a wave through her body as she grunts, but doesn’t let go of his neck. Gigi kicks him on the ribs while Monét continues kicking his groin. Once the living room is mostly empty and the police officers walk in, the girls stop, but Katya continues holding him down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is your guy,” she tells the officers, struggling to breathe. “I know how it looks, but you’ll have to trust me on this.” Beside her, Monét and Gigi nod. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>November 1st, 2015. Sunday, 12:14 a.m.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Katya had only been to the police station once before, and that was when they had to report Brooke’s suicide. It’s colder inside than it is outside and the walls are painted in the ugliest shade of beige she has ever seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tonight, the atmosphere feels different from that day. At first, everyone treated her and the girls like delinquents, but luckily the officer she was sent to, Officer Davenport, was a tough-looking lady with a kind heart who listened to the whole story and even offered her some water and salty crackers for comfort after Katya was done talking. She called her parents and told her to wait while she messed with some paperwork. The girls told their version to other officers and were let go, but they asked if it was possible they waited with Katya. Officer Davenport gave them a side-eye before saying yes. They sat with her as she cried, feeling her heart beat out of place. Chad wasn’t so lucky, though. They gave him the delinquent treatment all the way, shoving him into chairs and all that. His eye was black and the corners of his mouth were bleeding, plus, he wasn’t wearing any pants, so it all felt like a win to Katya. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s been waiting for a while now, and she’s devastated. Gigi and Monét supply her with tissues every few minutes and her eye makeup is completely gone. The tears stream warmly down her face as she sniffs softly. Out of the blue, she hears a familiar clacking of heels getting louder and louder, coming her way. The doors to where she is open and in storm her mom and dad. Of course, her mom got a call from the police station saying “hey we got your daughter here, mind coming over for a sec?” and decides that putting on a pencil skirt with a blouse and a Gucci jacket was the move. Her dad is wearing an old Nike tracksuit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yekaterina,” Irina says with her </span>
  <em>
    <span>mother</span>
  </em>
  <span> voice, “что ты сделал, чтобы оказаться здесь? мой ребенок преступник!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mom!” Katya wipes away her tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I saw what you did to Chad, and I heard you two were part of it as well,” Irina points to Gigi and Monét. “I thought we had an agreement.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that I wouldn’t hit anyone </span>
  <em>
    <span>at school</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Katya points out. George keeps his hands in his pockets, avoiding any kind of eye contact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“в школе! Yekaterina, you have no idea how grounded you are. No idea!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ma’am, this is a police station. Let’s keep it civil, please?” Officer Davenport asks. Katya knows the look that her mother gives the officer way too well, and she’s pretty sure she’s about to ground the policewoman too. “Even though your daughter did get involved in a fistfight, that is actually not the main reason why we called you here tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Irina crosses her arms. “What </span>
  <em>
    <span>else</span>
  </em>
  <span> did she do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ms. Zamolodchikova is not directly involved in it at all, actually. If anything, she was of big help tonight. We have new evidence on your other daughter’s case, Brooke Lynn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya’s mom takes a step back and her dad holds her in place, not letting her fall. “Brooke?” He asks, looking at the officer and then at Katya. The tears keep flowing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know why she did it,” Katya confesses, feeling her mouth full of sand. “I found out why she killed herself.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter 23</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I miss you, Trixie. Time doesn’t fucking pass when you don’t talk to me, it all just slowly melts around me until I can’t breathe anymore. I haven’t slept very well. Some other things happened after you left, but this is something we can talk about later. If we ever, you know, talk again. I hope we do. I literally don’t know what I’m gonna do with myself if we don’t.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys! Here's another update &lt;3 This one is a bit angsty, but I promise things are going to start looking up soon! Thanks to my babies <a href="http://zamo-95.tumblr.com/">Zamo95</a> and <a href="http://fedu31.tumblr.com/">Fedu</a> for the endless support and love &lt;3 And thank you for always reading, commenting, and sticking with the story so far, even in its downturns. Hopefully, you'll still be here when they stop suffering lmao. Don't forget you can always reach out to me on <a href="http://galaxybrunost505.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>! Happy reading &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Date: November 1st, 2015. Sunday, 01:33 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: I’m sorry :(</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hi, Trix. I hope you’re doing alright. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Last night was… Intense. I’d never done anything like that before and then, well… Yeah. I know you hadn’t either, so I hope you understand my head was spinning just as fast as yours. I’d very much like to elaborate more on how I’d been longing to kiss you for a good while before I actually did it, and how it fucking felt once it finally happened. I swear there’s something magical about you. Unfortunately, that would be… Incredibly inappropriate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m here to apologize before anything else, and also to explain what really happened. Should I start at the beginning? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, my sister and I had a tradition. We always used to go to the movie theater together, it was somehow our little safe space, away from my parents’ fights, away from how fucked up life was at school, it was just the two of us having a good time for two hours before going back to reality. Then, over the summer, she died. You know that part already, maybe even a little too well. After her death, I stayed home most of the time, and it was hell. While I was stuck in my little depression hole, you started working at The Screen Queen, which is why you never got to meet her. As soon as school started, my counselor paired me up with you to be my pen pal, since I was having problems connecting with my friends or whatever. You know how that went. Then, I went back to the movie theater on one especially bad day, and there you were.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first time I saw you was… Something. I looked at you and you went right through me, Trixie, I have no idea how to explain that. An adorable little pink thing staring at me. And fuck, you’re beautiful. I was so lost I didn’t even know what to look at first, your eyes or your lips or the glow on your cheeks. I then learned you were a little shy and I thought “You know what? A little mindless flirting wouldn’t hurt.” One, because it was so, so much fun to watch you all tangled up in your own words whenever I said anything cheeky, and two because obviously nothing would happen. Why would anyone like you ever feel anything for someone like me? It was a safe bet. Just for fun. But then, of course, you turned out to be way, way more than just a pretty face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the same time, my connection with Dolly was out of this world. You know that because you felt the same thing I did, but I was scared. I was scared of my own feelings and scared of ruining the single best thing that has ever happened to me, so I said some things I shouldn’t have. I called you friend way too many times, and I can’t fucking believe you fell for that bullshit. You’re smarter than that, Trixie. You know I was never just your friend, the same way you were never mine. It has always been more, since the very beginning. Still, neither of us had enough tits to do anything about that, so I take it you gave up on Jodie and decided to shoot your shot with Katya. I can’t blame you. I was close to doing the same thing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The call was like a turning point for me. It really meant a lot and I can’t ever thank you enough for that. Still, because I’m an idiot, I left so, so many things unsaid. We were alone in the universe, watching the stars, and I didn’t take my chance. I realized how big of a mistake that was, but then I thought it was too late. So when you asked me to go to the party I had no choice but to say yes. Whatever chance I had of being more than friends with Dolly was ruined. It would be stupid to let another chance go. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then, Trixie, that very night something happened. I heard you humming the song you wrote for me. I don’t think you even realized what you were doing, but that’s when it hit me. You and Dolly were the same person. The two girls who were pulling at my heart were the same person. I did what I assume anyone else would do: I panicked. Of course I knew I needed to tell you. I had planned to do it first thing at the party, but then I saw you and… I’m only human, Trixie. And you do things to me that I struggle to describe. I still tried to tell you, but the time never seemed right or something else came up or whatever. The moment I kissed you, I forgot about everything else around me, but when I looked at your face a second time… I knew I had fucked up. I should have told you before I kissed you. It was not fair to you and it seemed like all I was trying to do was get in your pants, which is not the case. I swear I wanted to have told you the truth sooner, but I failed at that. And by doing that I hurt you. It was unfair, irresponsible, and inconsiderate. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I know what I did was wrong, even though I had no intention of fucking up this bad. I’m sorry, Trixie. I wish I knew how to make it up to you. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Love, Katya.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Date: November 3rd, 2015. Tuesday, 10:00 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: I miss you really, really bad</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hey Trixie, </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s me again, but you already know that. You’re probably not even opening these. If I were you, I know I wouldn’t. Yet, I insist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I miss you, Trixie. Time doesn’t fucking pass when you don’t talk to me, it all just slowly melts around me until I can’t breathe anymore. I haven’t slept very well. Some other things happened after you left, but this is something we can talk about later. If we ever, you know, talk again. I hope we do. I literally don’t know what I’m gonna do with myself if we don’t. As you might have guessed, I have been drinking. I still have some leftover vodka and there’s nothing like pure vodka to burn the things you don’t want to have inside of you anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hasn’t worked very well so far, but I’m determined. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Have you been doing alright? I’m worried sick. I thought of texting you, but I figured you’d simply block me. I know that Saturday night was a lot, and I know you’re still processing everything, but I hope you find room in your heart to forgive me and have me back in your life. It fucking sucks to live in a world that you’re not a part of. I hope you don’t hate me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What I did was really not fair to you, there is no excuse. You were always there for me, the least I could have done was told you the truth immediately. I wonder how this conversation would have gone had I said something the night I figured it out, but I can’t turn back time and undo this mistake. The best I can do is apologize and hope for forgiveness. Everything keeps playing back in my head like some sort of bizarre B movie. If you could have seen your own face… The heartbreak that I saw, Trixie, you might forgive me for it, but I don’t know if I will. To know that I made you suffer like that drives me mad. I can only imagine what was going on in your head. Betrayal, maybe? I know what that’s like. You trust someone and they crush you in the first chance they get. Been there. Fucking shit, I’ve literally been there. I should have known better. I’m such an ass. It’s what they say, right? You either die a hero or live long enough to become the villain. I really hope I’m not the villain in your life, though, just a little asshole you’ve stumbled upon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If I’m lucky, an asshole who gets a second chance, even though it’s still unclear whether they deserve one or not. Being sorry might not be enough, and I get it, but it’s all I got for now. That and the permanent burning feeling in my stomach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When I said that I like you, I meant it. You should probably have known that from the way I kissed you. Maybe I still have a lot to learn about liking someone, this doesn’t feel very ideal. To think that right now I could have you right here with me, but my stupid fucking brain ruined that for us… I guess I broke my own heart. And yours too. The more I talk, the fewer reasons I find for you to forgive me, so I think I’ll stop now before I give you any ideas.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Please don’t give up on me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Love, Katya.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Date: November 4th, 2015. Wednesday, 05:12 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: Please read this one</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Trixie, </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Drinking alone in my bedroom before talking to you really isn’t doing me any favors, is it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gigi and Monét are getting sick of me crying about this by now, but they did know what they signed up for - my contract clearly says “may burst into tears at any moment”. If they didn’t read that part, that’s their problem. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Humor isn’t helping either, I think. Guess I’ll go straight to it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m still sorry. I still hate myself over what I did to you, and I still hope that someday you find it in yourself to forgive me, but it’s okay if you don’t. What I’m here to say is that I’ll stop bothering you and I’ll let you live your life. You deserve it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Do I miss you desperately? Yes. Do I think about kissing you again every minute? Definitely. But that won’t do much for me if you’re not happy about it, and as much as I want you by my side, and as much as I want to be able to have things like they were before, there is nothing that I want more than for you to be happy. I know everything you’ve gone through, and I guess now I’m part of the problem. You shouldn’t have to drag this dead horse around anymore. I won’t bother you anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If you want, I’d be happy to talk things through, even if nothing changes. I have no more dignity and I’ll just say that I’d do anything you want me to, but maybe right now I really should take a fucking step back and leave you alone. I’ve done more than enough damage. And I’m so sorry it hurts all of my bones, but I know it’s not a reason for you to forgive me. That’s up to you and I’ll just quit bitching about it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Please do not interpret this as me not liking you anymore, or me giving up on whatever this is. It’s the right thing to do. Letting go is never easy, but neither is being bugged by the person who hurt you. I can take a hint. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I miss you, Trixie. You’re undeniably the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and it sucks that I was dumb enough to lose you like this. I’m so sorry for what I’ve done, and I’m so sorry it’s come to this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I was never very good at letting go, but I haven’t really had a choice lately, have I?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Love, Katya.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>[DRAFTS]</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Date: November 5th, 2015. Thursday, 02:47 a.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: I really need to stop crying over pretty women</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dear Trixie, </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This is the last thing I want, but I know I don’t have a choice. I also know that I got myself into this mess on my own. You need time to heal and I get that, I’ve done enough to ruin stuff for you. You don’t need me right now, you need yourself and your school nurse and your mom and your friends. Your life is going to be way better off now that I’m not in it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, fuck, it hurts. It’s selfish, I know it is, which is why I’m not going to tell you anything. You deserve more, you deserve better. It’s not what I want, but I guess what I want is the least important thing right now. I swear, if you only knew what happened today… I know Gigi and Monét are there for me, but it’s not the same. Nothing will ever be the same if you’re not there. And you’re not. I need to learn how to be okay with that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I think I’m falling in love with you, Trixie. I’m also not sure how much that matters right now. Of course I wish you would look back and not let me go, but I’ll go anyway. Insisting will only make you hurt more and I’ve done enough of upsetting you for an entire lifetime. But it’s true, it has been true for a while. Right now it’s desperate and it aches, because I know you were almost there too and now you’re not. Now I’m falling in love with you and you’re gonna let me hit the ground. I deserve it, and I don’t want you to love me back. I’m not even sure I want you to forgive me right now, all I want is for you to move on from this. I claim to be falling for you yet all I’ve done so far is fuck this up. You can do way better. Shit, that vodka did not help.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I can't fucking send this. I’m going insane. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Love, Katya. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter 24</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>She’s so stupid. Somehow she knows she should have seen it coming, but every time Trixie tries to think through it her brain burns out and gives up halfway into the story. Katya’s face won’t leave her head. The first look she gave Trixie when she was still sitting on the couch, and how she realizes now why she stood there frozen. Right before she smoked her cigarette, the way she breathed in and out so fast and bit her lip before speaking like she was trying to stop herself from saying too much. When they kissed and Trixie gave in to her, the glow in Katya’s eyes from seeing her so up close, and then when they stopped kissing and Katya looked lost in her own little world. It all makes sense now.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello everyone &lt;3 This is one of the last angsty chapters we have left, so please suffer wisely. Thanks to <a href="https://zamo-95.tumblr.com/">Zamo95</a> and <a href="http://fedu31.tumblr.com/">Fedu</a> for being the best, even though they hate me a little &lt;3 And thank you guys for reading, commenting, and sticking with he story through thick and thin &lt;3 If you need me, you can find me on <a href="http://galaxybrunost505.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>! Love you!!</p><p>TW: descriptions of sexual assault, homophobia, catholicism</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>November 3rd, 2015. Tuesday, 04:56 p.m.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trixie tries to ignore the doorbell ringing, grunting against her pillow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hasn’t moved too much since she came home that night, bothering to get up only to shower in a frivolous attempt of washing off all of the feelings that got caught on her skin since then. Still, no matter how hard she scrubs the inches of her where she still feels Katya’s touch burning, or how many times she shampoos her hair, or how many more cuts she gets from shaving her legs even though there is not enough hair grown out yet, she still feels like an idiot. When she isn’t showering, she stays in bed, having made the conscious choice not to show up at school or work, texting Shangie she’s been sick. Trixie lies in bed all day listening to all of the songs she knows will put her in a worse mood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mom is worried. She knocked at Trixie’s bedroom door the previous night carrying a tray full of heated up frozen food - it’s the best she can do. Nina didn’t ask many questions, but she held Trixie tightly in a warm hug as they laid together in her small twin-sized bed until she fell asleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crying seems to take too much effort, so most of the time she simply watches the ceiling until her eyes are full enough to spill. Her pillows don’t get wet, but her lungs seem to be full of salty water. She hasn’t looked at her phone since Sunday, but every time it buzzes she knows it’s either Dela asking too much about how she’s feeling or an email from Katya. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Katya</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Just the thought of her hardens her heart, only to immediately melt its beats away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been a stone-hard truth to swallow. The one person she trusted the most and the one person she was willingly risking her heart for were the same, and she lied to Trixie. She’s so stupid. Somehow she knows she should have seen it coming, but every time Trixie tries to think through it her brain burns out and gives up halfway into the story. Katya’s face won’t leave her head. The first look she gave Trixie when she was still sitting on the couch, and how she realizes now why she stood there frozen. Right before she smoked her cigarette, the way she breathed in and out so fast and bit her lip before speaking like she was trying to stop herself from saying too much. When they kissed and Trixie gave in to her, the glow in Katya’s eyes from seeing her so up close, and then when they stopped kissing and Katya looked lost in her own little world. It all makes sense now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amidst her current agony, lying face down on her bed trying just a little to smother herself against her pillow, she forgets a very important detail: Dela knows how to pick locks. Before she knows it, a harsh slap across the butt startles her into turning around and sitting up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s harassment,” she complains. Dela sits at the end of her bed, eyes almost wet and the shadow of a leftover smile haunts her lips. Trixie gets it - if she had to see her own face right now, she might react just the same. She is aware that at this point the darkness under her eyes must have taken over most of her cheeks, and that her skin is so pale and dry that all the glow is gone. Trixie is barely the ghost of a girl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dela places a hand on her knee, Trixie allows the touch. “How are you feeling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like a dumb bitch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her friend purses her lips. “None of this was your fault, Trixie. Don’t blame yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not about blame, it’s about being too naïve to see what’s right in front of me,” Trixie explains. “It’s about handing your heart to someone and watching them break it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dela pats her knee. “Katya fucked up by not telling you, but I can’t let you lie here and wallow in self-pity until your bed swallows you whole. You need to get yourself back together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How can I be so smart,” Trixie says, “and still let myself get played like this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is not on you. This is on the girl who lied to you.” Dela reminds her. “You did nothing wrong. All you need right now is to get up, brush your hair, and get your ass back on track.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie lets herself fall back onto the bed. “Is this what you feel every time it goes wrong with a guy?” Dela hums in confirmation. “Ugh. There is no way I’m ever doing this again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, but you are,” Dela tells her. “This heaviness on your chest? It goes away. This is stupid, but you know how my uncle has that huge tattoo on his leg? The dragon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you trying to make me feel better by reminding me that I don’t have an ugly tattoo that takes up my entire calf?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dela laughs. “Not exactly, but I hope it helps anyway. The thing is that it hurt like a bitch. It took four hours of work and then he could barely walk for a week, plus the itching. He crossed his heart it would be his last tattoo ever. What did my uncle do two months later?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He got the backpiece.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The infamous backpiece,” Dela raises her eyebrows. “And do you know what the tattoo artist told him?” Trixie shakes her head. “He said that the human body forgets pain. And it’s true. We go through shit that is bad enough to make us promise it’s the last time we put ourselves in that situation, but then something new comes up and makes it seem worth it to go through it all over again. You’re gonna meet someone new, sooner or later, and it won’t matter how much Katya hurt you. You’ll know what’s at stake, and you’ll choose to do it anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, Dela… It’s beautiful advice, but… I feel like such an idiot saying this,” Trixie moans. “I don’t know if I want to get over her yet. I don’t even know what really happened yet, and I like her so much… I </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>like her so much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dela sighs. “Can I be very, very honest with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You literally broke into my house, why ask now?” Trixie deadpans. Dela rolls her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See… I’m angry at Katya too, let me start there. She had no place lying to you about anything at all, let alone about something you’d specifically told her you wanted to, you know, keep to yourself. But…” Trixie grunts. “It did seem like an honest mistake. I’m serious - look at everything she’s done for you.” She remains quiet. “Every single time a boy has broken my heart it was because they didn’t keep their promises, or because they didn’t like me as much as I liked them, or because they were straight-up assholes. Maybe all three at once. That’s not what Katya is to you. She was there for you even in the moments that you wouldn’t let me in, she caught everything you threw at her… I think she really likes you, Trix.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why did she lie?” Trixie asks, nearly pouting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you ask her? Even better yet, why don’t you check if she’s sent you anything? Oh,” Dela pauses. “You haven’t looked at your phone since you told me what happened, have you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope,” Trixie pops her </span>
  <em>
    <span>p</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you probably haven’t heard about what happened after you left?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure I’m exactly in the mood for gossip -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, girl, this is way beyond gossip. It’s pretty serious.” Trixie frowns. “It’s about Katya, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did she do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, nothing wrong in my point of view,” Dela touches her own chest, “and it’s still not very clear how things ended up, but I know the police were involved and everything.” Trixie widens her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Dela repeats. “Basically Chad, the guy who threw the party, caught the whole thing between you two on camera, at least what happened in the living room.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which basically means a straight, white, conservative guy has video footage of me being a lesbian in public. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sweet,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Trixie says between her teeth. “I definitely won’t lose any sleep over that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Girl, that’s the least of your worries right now, trust me,” Dela tells her. Intrigued, Trixie sits up to be able to see her friend’s face, crossing her legs. “Chad was </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasted</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Shitfaced. I think it might be a recurring thing between him and Katya, but he thought it was the perfect opportunity to humiliate her in front of everyone. He called her the d-word, and it only went down from there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie’s chest tightens. “She had already told me in the emails that everyone at school used to call her that.” She exhaled. “It must be scary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It gets worse.” Trixie’s expression melts into sadness and concern. She can feel every single pump of blood that runs through her heart. “She basically told him that he was a creep for getting off on exposing people and that’s when it got ugly. He started talking about Brooke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mouth opens in shock. “Brooke.” Her voice is so weak she’s sure Dela doesn’t hear it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You had already told me about her, and later when I put two and two together… Trixie, it was… Bad. Really bad. Chad talked about Brooke knowing something she wasn’t supposed to and threatening him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no,” Trixie whispers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He said he got her drunk, extremely drunk, and then he had sex with her, even though I think she was way past the point of consent.” Trixie covers her mouth with her hands, heart beating faster by the second. She knows where this is going. “He filmed the whole thing so he had something to use against her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dela,” Trixie reaches out to touch her friend’s arm. Her eyes are filled to the brim with tears, but she tries her best to hold them back. “Is this… Is this why she killed herself? Because he was going to…” Dela nods. “Oh, my God.” The first tear slips out, but she immediately wipes it away. “I… This is terrible. I had no idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then Chad threatened to expose both Katya and Brooke to their parents, which I assume would </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> be a good time.” Trixie shakes her head. “You can imagine how upset Katya got. She literally smashed his iPhone 6 under her boots.” Her eyebrows shoot up. “And then she and her friends beat the living shit out of him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re joking.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dela shakes her head with her lips pursed. “Gigi Goode started it. She got him right in the eye,” she mimics a punch. Trixie nearly squeals, drying the tears that had come to the rim of her eyes. “Katya hopped on his back and almost choked him with her arms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She has strong arms,” Trixie observes, blushing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Monét X Change kicked his balls so many times I doubt he’ll ever have children. It didn’t last too long, though, because the police got there soon and everyone was taken down to the station.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That… Was a wild ride from start to finish,” Trixie huffs. She doesn’t mention the little fire growing in her from the idea of Katya trying to choke a dude that’s twice her size. Maybe she is like one of those chihuahuas who think they’re pitbulls and go around barking at the big dogs. The thing is that Katya bites them for real. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why is this hot</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Trixie asks herself. The mental image that she makes of the defined muscles in Katya’s arms wrapped around some guy’s neck… She swallows. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is why I have to see a fucking psychiatrist. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah. Everyone is talking about it - and before you ask, nobody is really talking about the first bit when she tried to kiss you. I mean, some people might talk about it, but mostly no one really gives a shit. Everyone already kind of knew about Katya, so it isn’t that much of a shocker.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m lucky no one knows who I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“True as well. Still, the Brooke thing? Heavy. Now everyone is trying to figure out what she knew about Chad for him to do that to her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie’s stomach turns at the thought. “I can’t even imagine what Katya and her family must be going through. Remember that girl from LH who had her nudes leaked two years ago and had to move somewhere else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some people are being really nasty about it, saying Brooke knew what she was doing all along, that she had it coming, even that she deserved it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s awful and completely unfair. Even if she were sober, even if she hadn’t been dragged into this situation, it still wouldn’t be an excuse for what Chad did. Katya was right when she punched him the first time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can only imagine the talk they must have had at the police station,” Dela comments. “Imagine losing your daughter and then having an intimate video like this resurface…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Katya has already been through this once with Chad. He kissed her and filmed it, then sent it to everyone in school saying he tricked a dyke into kissing him or something. Her parents didn’t like it one bit and even blamed her for it. I wonder if she’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should ask,” Dela says in an eyeblink. Trixie stares at her, but all she does is shrug. “Whatever drama is going on between you two now can wait. This is way, way bigger. We’re talking about a family that lost both a daughter and a sister. You should ask yourself what matters the most right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trixie knows Dela is right. She sighs as her friend tries to read her face. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Katya, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she rehearses and shuts her eyes. “Can you help me type it?” She asks. The only confirmation she gets is a soft tap on her knee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>November 4th, 2015. Wednesday, 12:07 p.m.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>School has been… Something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, it’s nothing that Katya isn’t already used to: the insistent looks and the loud whispering have been following her for way longer than this, she will survive. The difference is that this time it’s a dead girl everyone is gossiping about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air inside of the school feels heavy and hard to breathe. Some people have started placing candles, cards, and flowers around Brooke’s locker (like it isn’t a fire hazard), and someone wrote </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead slut</span>
  </em>
  <span> on it with a sharpie. They even stuck a gum next to it. The best part to Katya is that she knows that wherever Brooke is, if she even is somewhere, she gives a total of zero fucks about both the fire hazards and the slurs. She might have cared when she was alive, but right now she’s officially off duty. High school stops being important when you die, Katya guesses. She lets every pair of curious and malicious eyes follow her up and down the hallways knowing in her heart that none of them matter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her parents have had no choice but to take it well. The talk at the police station was long - they stayed there until the morning listening to everything Officer Davenport had to say and looking at all the pieces of evidence she had to show. For a moment Katya was very worried that having destroyed Chad’s phone would stop them from being able to retrieve the videos, but luckily the police were granted access to his cloud and everything was saved there. And boy, talk about </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turns out what Brooke had found out about him is that he, Brad, and Matt were running some sort of nude photos cartel, in which they had tons of photos of girls from their school, including many who are underage, or were at the time of the pictures. Chad was already in big, big trouble for having Brooke’s video, but the pictures were the last straw. Since he’s already eighteen, he can already serve time, and this is what Katya’s parents, along with the parents of the other girls, are hoping will happen. Everyone tries to keep the details of the case as secretive as possible, mostly to preserve the identities of the other girls. Nevertheless, a couple of girls stop Katya in a restroom to thank her, while others simply shoot her a look when they walk past her in the hallways. One of them is Roxxxy Andrews. Katya keeps her mouth shut, and the only satisfaction she feels are the wings helping her heart float from knowing she’s doing the right thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On Tuesday morning, as Katya was leaving a stall in the second-floor bathroom, Roxxxy was standing by the sink waiting for her. Katya ignored her presence, washing her hands in silence. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Roxxxy asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell anyone about what?” Katya shook her hands above the sink, the excess water flying everywhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what I’m talking about,” Roxxxy said. “The Chad thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya crossed her arms, mimicking the other girl. “Why would I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you hate me,” Roxxxy explained, “and you want to get back at me. I deserve it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head. “You don’t, Roxxxy. No one deserves this, and I know it because I’ve been there before and I know how it feels. Of course it’s not the same, but I can imagine what it’d be like. And you’re wrong, I don’t hate you. You’ve been nothing but rude to me since day one, you’re a homophobic piece of shit who doesn’t deserve one minute of my time. I don’t want to hurt you. I want nothing to do with you, I want you out of my life.” Katya licked her lips, watching Roxxxy’s face intently, trying to figure her out. “If I ever need to get back at you, I’ll be sure to do it on my own. I hope I don’t have to, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence. Roxxxy looked up, trying to find Katya’s eyes. “Thank you. My parents didn’t take it well at all, and I just… Being home right now is hell. I thought you were going to make school hell too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya nodded. “You’re going through enough, and so am I. I won’t bother you if you don’t bother me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll never hear of me again,” Roxxxy promised. Katya walked out of the bathroom without saying another word to her. Katya didn’t know it then, but she was telling the truth. She would never hear of Roxxxy again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George and Irina have been spending a lot of time with their attorney. Mostly Katya isn’t invited to join them, which is fine by her. Not that staying home staring at her bedroom wall is a lot more fun than being part of a meeting to discuss what happens to the violated privacy of her dead sister, but she knows her limits. On Tuesday afternoon, she is called in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The family lawyer is a tall, intimidating forty-something-year-old who wears too much makeup. She goes by Mrs. DelRio, but insisted Katya call her Bianca in a desperate attempt to make her feel more comfortable. Unfortunately for her, this set off a series of alarms in Katya’s head - she’s been in enough trouble to understand what adults want from her before they even say it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Mrs. DelRio smiled at her. Her mouth is huge, Katya observed. “Your parents said you like to be called Katya, is that okay?” Katya nodded. “Alright. You know that we are doing all we can to make sure justice is served and that whoever is guilty pays for what they’ve done not only to Brooke, but to other girls too. Including you, right? Tell me something, Katya, this is not the first time you’ve had trouble with this Chad guy, is it?” Katya shook her head. “Why don’t you tell me a little more about that? And, just so you know, our conversation is being recorded, but I promise you I’ll make good use of the recording.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How much is a little more?” Katya asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As much as you can, kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya looked at her sides, where her parents sat. “Do they have to be here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. DelRio sighed. “Well, since you’re a minor we need to have an adult who is responsible for you present in the room. We can have one of them leave if it makes you more comfortable,” she offered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya pursed her lips. Her heart was beating in her throat, reliving the scenes of what had happened last year when they first learned about the existence of that goddamned video. “Whatever. They’re already here,” she shrugged. “Well, Chad... He always liked to tease me at school, since I was a freshman. He liked to call me baby a lot. Baby this, baby that,” she rolled her eyes. “I guess that’s just what guys do, though.” Mrs. DelRio takes a quick note, then goes back to looking at Katya with her lawyer face. “He wasn’t in my middle school, but back then people liked to call me dyke a lot.” Irina cringed at the word. “It died down a bit when I got to high school, but it was still there. Definitely still there. Like, I got beat up over that and all. Fun times.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry, Katya. No one deserves to go through this,” Mrs. DelRio said with a sympathetic look on her face. Katya already knew that look way too well. She could not even bear the thought of looking at her parents, even though she knew the situation was completely different from what it had been when all of that happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was lucky to have Brooke by my side. She defended me and that’s what really made it kind of die down, you know? So one night I went to a party - one of the first ones I’ve ever been to. I was drinking like everyone else, and then at some point Chad said he wanted to talk to me. I was already drunk by then, not wasted, but also not well enough to make good choices.” Katya paused. “To make </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> choices. He took me upstairs to a bedroom and then when we got there he kissed me. He didn’t ask, he… He just did it.” Her eyes started to burn and her voice got caught in her throat. “So I went with it. I thought that’s what I was supposed to do, right? It was my first kiss.” The first tear rolled down her face slowly. She didn’t bother trying to wipe it. “I know this is like… Not important, irrelevant, but I always thought my first kiss would have been something I’d look back at with a smile or a giggle, you know? It’s what most girls do. At that moment, though, I felt like my first kiss had been taken from me. Stolen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did he try to do anything else?” The attorney asked. Katya nodded, hearing her mom sniffle beside her. She still chose not to look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He put his hand up my shirt,” she explained. “And he tried to put it under my bra, but it was too tight and he couldn’t do it. He still touched me,” she instinctively covered her breasts with her arms, “but I didn’t do anything about it. I didn’t like it, but I didn’t think I had a choice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you tell me what happened after that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brooke found us. She barged into the room and told him to stop, started yelling at him. She told me to get away from him and I did. Honestly, my brain was so fuzzy and I was feeling so confused that I didn’t understand what was happening. I… I was happy she was there, but I didn’t know why. I mean, this is what normal teenagers do, right? They kiss and they put their hands on each other. They kiss boys,” Katya pointed out, using her fingers to wipe away the wetness under her eyes. “It was supposed to feel good. Anyway, we went home and then we talked about it a bit, but it was very casual. She told me that’s not what kisses are supposed to feel like. I thought that was bad enough, but then came Monday,” she said. She stopped for a second, letting the tears fall. “Everyone was looking at me weird,” she sobbed, “and I didn’t know why. Then my friend showed me the video.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did the video show?” Mrs. DelRio asked, passing her a box of tissues. Katya knew she had already seen the video, but she swallowed hard anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First it was Chad and his friends making a bet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was the bet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya sniffled. “They were betting on who would get to kiss the dyke first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And then what happens in the video?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For a few seconds there’s only an empty room, but then you hear the door open,” Katya recited from her memory, “and we walk in. Chad and I, that is. He is leading me by the waist and I’m laughing. He shuts the door, but doesn’t lock it. He takes me right to where the camera is pointing and kisses me. You know the rest,” she grunted. “Then, in the end, he walks towards the camera laughing, saying that he won.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you remember what he titled the video?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jock tricks dyke into making out gone wrong,” she answered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what you’re telling me is that Chad Wright sexually harassed you, recorded it, used a slur against you, even if indirectly, and then shared the video online?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya furrowed her brow. “I mean… I g-gues, but sexual harassment sounds like a bit much. I don’t think I was harassed. This is just how Chad is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. DelRio reached out to touch her hand. “See, kid, when you say things like you were too drunk to make any choices, or that you felt your first kiss was stolen from you, or that you didn’t like it when he touched you, but you didn’t think you had a choice… All of that fits into what harassment is. It’s not necessarily an assault, but it doesn’t mean it wasn’t traumatic for you.” Katya let herself feel the warmth of the attorney’s hand over hers. “And it doesn’t mean Chad should get away with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never thought of it that way,” Katya confessed. “It never felt that serious. Obviously the whole video situation hurt me, but this is how things are in high school. Shit happens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed shit does happen,” Mrs. DelRio agreed, “but in this case, I think you've had shit forced upon you in more ways than one. Now, I need to ask you something, and it might be a tough one, but I need you to be honest with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In more than one occasion, including the video and what happened last Saturday, Chad has used homophobic slurs against you.” Katya nodded, holding a tissue against her nose as she blew it. “Do they apply?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya froze. “Why does it matter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chad is not a nice guy. What he did to Brooke and to those other girls was a crime, it wasn’t just a fuckboy thing.” Mrs. DelRio stared at her. “He isn't just a bully, Katya. He’s a criminal. This isn’t the 1960s, using slurs against an LGBTQ individual is a bias incident, which is a baby hate crime, basically. When he says these awful things to you, that’s almost a crime too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if I’m not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then he’s just a homophobic dick who gets one less charge on his neck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya swallowed. “And if I am?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s one more reason to get his ass. I can’t promise you jail time for this one thing specifically, but it will definitely be taken into account at the time of sentencing. Still, considering all he’s done, including possession of child pornography, there’s no way he’s not getting locked away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room sat silent for a moment, and all Katya could hear was the breathing of her parents. It went from heartbreaking to awkward in the blink of an eye, but only for the adults. Inside of Katya, a fire started in her chest and the flames grew taller than a tree. She remembered the conversation she had with Mrs. Michaels in which she said she would never let anyone use the word “dyke” against her again, that it was her word now, and she almost smiled. Who knew all the stones Chad threw at her would be the ones to drag him down and make him drown. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Katya stated. “It does apply.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her father coughed, and her mother cried harder. Her expression did not change, and neither did Mrs. DelRio’s. The conversation went on for a while and Katya cried again when the lawyer asked her to talk more about what happened at the party. She also explained that the fact Katya hit him (twice, her mom reminded them) could be a disadvantage, but it was nothing compared to what he’d done. When they finished their meeting, Mrs. DelRio promised Katya that Chad would get exactly what he deserved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Katya. I know it must have been horrible, horrible to go over all of these painful moments, but you made a huge difference. I know Brooke is the one who used to protect you, but you did a good job defending her today,” the attorney said. Katya cried at that too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No words were exchanged about her little confession on the car ride home. Katya simply sulked in the backseat, eyes glued to the window until they pulled up at their driveway. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s already out there</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If they want to say something about it, they will. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dinner was mostly silent as well, save for the occasional “could you pass me the potatoes”. It was driving her insane, contradicting her own thoughts and stuffing her throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Katya murmured, getting her parents’ attention. She looked down at her half-finished steak, hearing the clacking of utensils on the plates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What for?” George asked, chewing on his own piece of meat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know why,” she said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“не говори об этом за столом,” her mom chimed in, firm. Katya looked up at her, simply gaining another stone-hard stare back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let her speak,” George demanded, raising his voice. Katya always tensed at how loud her father could get when he wanted to, so she focused on taking deep breaths and ignoring the tears that still wanted to come out. “Go on, kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya shrugged. “I’m sorry I’m not what you expected.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not the word you wanted to use, is it?” George asked. Katya shook her head. “You can say it, Katya. It’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry I’m gay,” she offered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From across the table, her mother slammed her hands down. “Not at the dinner table!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where, then? When? It’s never going to be convenient to you either way,” Katya snapped back. “I’m always going to be the leftover daughter, why does it even matter that much?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s sin, Yekaterina. God is not on your side if you are like that,” Irina responded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was he on Brooke’s side when a guy intoxicated and assaulted her?” Katya yelled, standing up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough,” George intervened. “This is not about Brooke or what happened to her. Sit down, Yekaterina. Look at what’s happening to our family. You being gay doesn’t even come close to the worst thing that could happen to us.” Both women sat quietly for a moment. “Katya, thank you for being honest with us. Your mother and I will… Discuss this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How much is there to be discussed?” She huffed. “Whether or not I’ll be sent to conversion therapy? Whether or not you still love me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her dad’s expression dropped. “Of course we still love you! I know our family goes through ups and downs, but we love you and that never changes. It never will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it’s not right,” Irina said. “What you’re choosing is not right, Yekaterina, it is a lonely life. Your father says that, but there is no real love for people like you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not a fucking choice, mom,” Katya responded. “But if it was I’d still make it. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I’m not the daughter you wanted, but this is all I know how to be. Me. It’s me,” she cried out. “For so long I’d wake up every day and hate my own guts, and the thought that if I opened my mouth to say anything about it you’d hate my guts too… That’s a lot for a kid. And I was right. That’s the worst part.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Irina stood up in one aggressive motion. “George, you get the dishes tonight.” She stomped out of the room, Katya could hear her strutting up the stairs. She didn’t cry, but her throat tied in a tight knot. For a while, it was simply Katya and her dad staring at each other, wondering what the next move would be. After a sigh, George stood up and walked around the table, taking the seat next to Katya, where Brooke used to sit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya and George never had the closest relationship. Both of them were, in fact, the ones with a tendency to distance themselves from the rest of the family. When it was just the two of them in the car the only thing they talked about was the weather. Their Christmas gifts to each other were incredibly impersonal and generic. None of them seemed to be bothered by it, despite Irina and Brooke’s effort to bring them closer together. It was some sort of unspoken deal that they had, their own little thing. Back when the girls from her school accused Katya of forcing them to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>stuff</span>
  </em>
  <span>, their relationship shifted a bit. He was definitely angry, refraining even more from her. When the video came out he didn’t look at her for two full weeks. She had since then felt like whatever little silent bond they had formed over the years was broken. It was very difficult for Katya not to feel like a stranger amidst her whole family simply for existing as she did, and the circumstances didn’t seem to be in her favor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t listen to your mom. Things are different where she comes from, you know that.” Katya nodded. “It must have been hard for you to keep this secret for such a long time and get this kind of reaction when you finally let it out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t really have much of a choice, to be honest. If it weren’t for Mrs. DelRio I don’t know…” Katya shrugged. “I don’t know if I would have told you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George pursed his thin lips in understanding. “Let me handle your mom, okay? Don’t worry about what she said. We have different ways of dealing with things, but she’ll come around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re cool with it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George blinked slowly. “I think </span>
  <em>
    <span>cool</span>
  </em>
  <span> is a strong word, to be honest, but you know what? I’ve already lost too damn much this year, and you’re the best thing that I have left. I can’t afford to lose you too, not knowing I can help it.” He smiled at her. “And hey, you know what? At least now I know we have something in common, since we both like women, eh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya laughed, and so did he. And they laughed until there was no more food on their plates and all the dishes were clean. Still, her heart felt heavy enough that by the time she dragged herself to bed she laid on her stomach, afraid that the weight would crush her lungs otherwise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On Wednesday morning, her father made breakfast, claiming her mother was already at the church to talk to their priest. Katya’s stomach twisted and turned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time lunch comes around at school, she does as little as play around with her food using her fork. Around her, Monét, Gigi, and Crystal, who seems to be the new addition to their little group of weirdos, sit and chat as if the whole world isn’t falling apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Katya? Are you okay?” Crystal asks after she doesn’t laugh at one of Monét’s jokes. “You seem a little off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She forces a smile, knowing Crystal isn’t just trying to be nice for the sake of impressing Gigi’s friends. She sees it in her eyes, behind her ugly brown glasses. “I’m just tired, that’s all. Had a long day yesterday with the lawyer and then things at home were...Ugh. Yeah. Not too good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How was it with the lawyer?” Monét asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Intense,” Katya sighs, letting go of her fork and fully giving up on eating anything at all. “She asked me to tell her about the whole thing with the video, so going over that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Then she pointed out that Chad uses a lot of slurs against me and asked if it’s true, so they can also use that against him. It’s not a crime, but it does weigh down I guess, even if just to prove he’s a bad person. But, you know, it’s only worth something if it’s true. If it isn’t, it won’t be taken into consideration because the slurs don’t apply to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gigi frowns. “Did she ask you about it?” Katya nods. Gigi widens her eyes. “In front of your parents?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You weren’t out to them yet?” Crystal asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really, no. We talked over dinner and it didn’t go very well. My dad isn’t too bothered, but my mom is pissed. She didn’t take it well at all,” Katya explains. Immediately, Monét’s arm wraps around her shoulders and her hand finds Katya’s arm. “She said no one will ever love me for real.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Kat,” Monét says. “That’s not true at all. We love you so much! And if she doesn’t change her mind Gigi can be your new mom!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gigi nods enthusiastically, then reaches to touch Katya’s hand. “I know it’s hard, but you will always find a family in us. No matter what, no matter when, no matter how.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Katya shows something that resembles a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry about your parents. You know, when I came out it didn’t go very well either,” Crystal says. “They said I needed to see a therapist, that I wasn’t the daughter they knew and loved… It was awful, but eventually my parents settled into the idea and now they don’t mind it that much. They think of it as something that’s none of their business. Works for me, works for them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t sound bad, honestly. At least it sounds better than what’s going on right now.” Katya checks the time on her phone. “I gotta go,” she says. “But I think I’ll see you guys in class? And Crystal, say hi to Jackie and Jan from me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should invite them to have lunch with us tomorrow,” Monét says. Crystal blushes and starts talking, but Katya doesn’t listen. She takes a deep breath and drags her feet across the school, feeling the floor more and more unstable under her. Her breathing starts slowly fading into a whisper, and she can feel her heart on her wrists. She doesn’t knock before entering, finding familiarity in the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Katya,” Mrs. Michaels says from her desk, looking up from her book and then tucking it away. She flashes an inviting smile. “Do you want to have a seat?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before she can step into the counselor’s room, a wave of emotion hits her. Her face goes numb and she doesn’t feel the first tear slip out, but insists her feet take her forward. They don't obey. Right there at the door, she lets herself fall to the ground, curling herself into a ball and hugging her own knees. She hears Mrs. Michaels stand up as she starts sobbing, but she doesn’t feel it when she touches her arms and shoulders. The only thing inside of her is a turmoil of fear, regret, and rejection. She cries until there is nothing left inside of her. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Chapter 25</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hi, Katya. </p>
<p>I heard about what happened to Brooke. I’m sorry.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, everybody! I can't believe we only have five chapters left until the end! It both feels like this has been going on forever and that it's only started yesterday... Go figure! Gracias a mis hermanas <a href="http://zamo-95.tumblr.com/">Zamo95</a> and <a href="http://fedu31.tumblr.com/">Fedu</a> por todo &lt;3 And thanks to the lot of you for all the love you've been giving me &lt;3 If you need anything, you can reach out to me on <a href="http://galaxybrunost505.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>! Happy reading!</p>
<p>Can I get a halleloo for the last angsty chapter?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Date: November 5th, 2015. Thursday, 12:04 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: (no subject)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hi, Katya. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I heard about what happened to Brooke. I’m sorry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dela told me about what went down after I left, about how Chad was wasted and tried to embarrass you then ended up confessing what he did. It’s honestly unforgivable. To be honest, I was happy to hear you and your friends hit him. There’s no fucking way he’s getting away with this. I know your parents didn’t have the best reaction when that video of you came up, but this is so much bigger. Brooke deserved better, and I’m sure you did too. Chad is a fucking monster. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I can’t even begin to imagine what your family must be going through right now. After so much grieving you’re being forced into such a terrible situation. Fuck, I’m sorry. So, so sorry. I wonder how your parents are handling this since they can get difficult sometimes. They must be heartbroken. You probably are too, but they have a different mindset. It’s way easier for you to understand that whatever happened was not Brooke’s fault in any way whatsoever, and I hope it won’t be too difficult for them to wrap heir heads around it. From the very bottom of my heart, I hope they are able to deal with this differently than the way they did back when it happened to you. If anything, I hope they’re at least angry enough to give Chad what he deserves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All things considered, I hope you’re well. I know you’re strong, and I know how much you love your sister. You’ll do whatever it takes to do what’s right, I’m sure. This is so much bigger than what happened between us, and it is also much bigger than whatever happened between you and your parents. Please, take care of each other. And take care of yourself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Date: November 5th, 2015. Thursday, 07:46 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: (no subject)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hey, Trixie. It’s good to hear from you.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It hasn’t been easy, I’ll tell you that. There’s a lot more involved, but I can’t really tell anyone about it because it’s confidential or whatever. The good news is there is no way Chad isn’t going to jail. They are piling up evidence against him and, boy, is he fucked. Good. It’s what he deserves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My family and I have been having it hard, as you have guessed, both because of Brooke and because of other issues too. I basically had to come out for legal reasons, which sounds incredibly bizarre, and it was a bit messy. I don’t know when things will be alright again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It means a lot that you said something about it. Thank you, Trixie. I miss you. Have you gotten my other emails, by chance?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Love, Katya.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Date: November 5th, 2015. Thursday, 09:13 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: (no subject)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I have. I read them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Date: November 5th, 2015. Thursday, 10:00 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: (no subject)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What does that mean for us?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Date: November 6th, 2015. Friday, 12:03 a.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkity@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkity@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:brightredscare@gmail.com">
    <span>brightredscare@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: (no subject)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It means nothing.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Chapter 26</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The outside is nothing but darkness and silence, except for her own steps muffled against the snow. She looks around, trying to spot any kind of figure under the streetlights. Squinting, she sees it. Small, but robust. And so, she takes off running, faster than she’s ever run before. She’s falling in love with me, Trixie thinks, and I’m falling in love with her.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi my loves &lt;3 After so much angst, I hope this chapter warms your hearts hehehe. Thanks to my bellas, <a href="http://zamo-95.tumblr.com/">Zamo95</a> and <a href="http://fedu31.tumblr.com/">Fedu</a> who are always there for me and thanks to all of you who take time to read and comment, you always make my day! If you want to reach out, you can find me on <a href="http://galaxybrunost505.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> November 15th, 2015. Sunday, 02:05 p.m. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The snow has already clogged every street in Leegreat Haven. </p><p>Katya doesn’t mind it. She likes waking up in the dark and then in the afternoon seeing everything turn to white, even the sky. This is probably part of her Russian heritage, she guesses. At her window, she watches the snowflakes mix into the blanket of snow that covers their yard, thinking she could go for a walk later, just to feel the snow under her feet. Her snow boots are already by her bedroom door. She knows she doesn’t need them, preferring to wear her usual Doc Martens as she would on any other day, but she leaves them there just in case.</p><p>She has been locked in her room all morning, having even skipped lunch. Her parents have been back from the Sunday service for a while now, but neither of them bothers knocking at her door. Two weeks ago she wouldn’t have minded it, she’d be glad. Today, every second of silence feels like a slap in the face. Katya lays down on her bed, feeling the weight on her shoulders spread to her other limbs. She checks her phone, finding only a couple of messages on her group chat, but she can’t be bothered to check them. She opens Vine, then opens Snapchat, then opens Instagram, and then dumps her phone on her nightstand with a grunt, knowing there is no distraction from the agony spreading through her chest. The white noise outside isn’t helping. </p><p>Her mother’s heels click and clack on the hallway. She can hear Irina go left and right and then left again until it finally stops. Katya raises an eyebrow, and then there’s a knock on her door. </p><p>“Come in,” she grunts, sitting up. </p><p>Irina walks in slowly, not meeting Katya’s eyes. “You didn’t make your bed,” she observes. Her voice is a lot softer than Katya had expected. </p><p>“No,” Katya responds. </p><p>“And you didn’t come downstairs for lunch.” Katya shakes her head. “I bet you’re hungry.”</p><p>“Not really,” Katya lies, feeling the emptiness in her stomach protest. She resists the urge to cover it with her hands. </p><p>“I need to talk to you, малышка,” Irina says as she sits at the end of the bed. Katya watches her with careful eyes. Her mother is absolutely never dressed down, not even if she’s just staying home. Today she’s wearing dark jeans, an expensive-looking blouse and hideous kitten heels. Meanwhile, Katya’s sweatpants have a hole in the inner thigh, and her shirt is stained with something she likes to believe is wine, but there is no way to be sure.</p><p>“Alright,” Katya agrees, with a cold feeling brushing over her guts as if she already knows what’s about to come. Her heart beats out of pace, but she makes a conscious effort not to let her facial expression change at all, maintaining her careless demeanor. </p><p>“I’ve been talking to our priest about our… Situation. I’ve been talking to your dad as well.” Irina lays her hands on her own lap. They are perfectly manicured, as usual. “I owe you an apology, Katya.”</p><p>Katya’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh?”</p><p>“The way I reacted was not fair to you,” her mother explains, “and it doesn’t reflect the way I feel about you at all. I love you so much, Yekaterina. There is no one on this entire planet that I love more than I love you and your sister.” She reaches out to touch Katya’s face. “Nothing could change that. Nothing.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Katya mutters, letting herself feel her mother’s hand against her face. “I love you too.”</p><p>“Father Williams told me that what God and Jesus have always preached is love - blind and selfless. I let what I <em> thought </em> God wanted me to think guide my actions, instead of acting with my heart, and that wasn’t very Christian of me,” Irina says. “Psalm 139:13 says ‘for you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb’, and in the end that’s it. God knew you before I did. He stitched every little bit of you together, and he did it perfectly. Мне жаль.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Katya shrugs. “I know it’s kind of a big deal and I wish it would have happened differently, but now it’s done.”</p><p>Irina reaches out to touch Katya’s hand, holding it between hers. “You were always such a weird little thing, Yekaterina. I used to look at you when you were a child, eating bugs and drawing dead people, and wish there was some way for me to see what was inside your head, to know what you were thinking. Brooke was always so vocal about everything, but you always kept so much to yourself, малышка. I thought you’d leave me locked out forever, and I should have tried harder. Things were so tough for you and I did nothing to help you.”</p><p>“It’s not your fault. School would have been shit either way,” Katya assures her. </p><p>“I was the one supposed to love and protect you and I didn’t do that,” Irina says. A shy tear rolls down her face, but she wipes it away as quickly as it came. “And I let you get hurt. I remember when Mother Latrice called us to talk about the video and all I could think of was how on Earth you got yourself in that situation. I remember thinking that if you were anything like Brooke that would never have happened. Now I know how wrong I was,” she tightens the grip around Katya’s hand. “I shouldn’t have blamed you. None of the horrible things that happened to you were ever your fault, малышка.”</p><p>Katya nods. “I know that, mom. The worst part is already over, I’m okay now. Plus, everyone knows what I did to Chad - twice. No one is going to bother me anymore. I won’t let them.”</p><p>Irina breaks out a giggle. “Your father was right, but God forbid he ever hears me say that.”</p><p>“About what?”</p><p>“It was so silly of me to worry about your…” Irina lets go of Katya’s hand to make a few gestures. “You know?”</p><p>“My sexuality?”</p><p>“Yes. Your sexuality,” her mother says slowly. “Look at everything we’ve already been through, especially this year. You are healthy,” Irina’s hand lays softly on Katya’s cheek, “you are strong, and most importantly you are here. I always tried so hard to push this thought away that I forgot the most important things about you. I should have known better.”</p><p>Katya licks her bottom lip as her chest tightens. Her mother’s eyes have never seemed so bright as they stare straight into her. “Brooke knew,” she confesses. “I never told her, but she knew it anyway, and she was so kind to me about it. For some reason, I was still afraid of telling her,” her stomach grunts with the bitterness of regret. “I shouldn’t have been. And now it’s too late.”</p><p>“Oh, малышка,” Irina pulls her into a hug. “Brooke is always watching over you, and I bet she understands you, and she’s very proud of the choices you’ve made. You said you were afraid before, but when the moment came and you had to say something, you didn’t hesitate. I know you did it for her.” </p><p>Katya nods into her mother’s neck, feeling her warm embrace. She’s glad she doesn’t have to look at her face right now. “Are you disappointed?”</p><p>“No,” Irina says, still holding her daughter. “Maybe I was at first, but after reflecting, and discussing, and praying I know I’m not.” Irina pulls back, holding Katya by her shoulders. “Of course I had different expectations for you, but you were never really one to stick to my plans, so I’m not that shocked either,” she smiles. Katya smiles back. “Do I love the idea? No, but that’s my problem to deal with. This has always been you, now what I need is to stop denying who you are. I’ll do my best,” she kisses Katya’s forehead.  There is no more heaviness in her chest and no more fuzziness in her brain. There is only love.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> November 21st, 2015. Wednesday, 11:13 p.m. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Crystal’s entire house smells of weed. </p><p>Her parents are out on some sort of business trip - or rather, her mom is and her dad decided to tag along. Katya had never met someone with a stay-at-home dad before, but she thinks it’s cool. She’s lying on Crystal’s living room carpet staring at the ceiling and listening to the music videos playing on the TV. It’s not easy to figure she likes this much better than any party she could have possibly gone to. </p><p>Monét has taken the couch for herself, eating peanut butter straight from the jar while lying in what seems to be an incredibly uncomfortable position. Katya can’t see her face very well, but she seems to be dividing her time between stuffing her face and laughing at the TV. They had never smoked pot this strong before, and it seems it really got to her. Gigi is no different. She sits on the floor next to Crystal, their backs against the couch where Monét is sprawled, and after having been a victim of the fishbowl five times, she’s letting Crystal give her a tarot reading. Well, it’s more like Crystal pulling out cards and explaining what they mean while Gigi traces the pictures with her fingers and talks about how beautiful they are. Crystal doesn’t seem to mind, kissing her cheeks ever so often and making her giggle. It is way more than Katya could have asked for out of a Saturday night. </p><p>Her mouth is dry, but she doesn’t mind it too much. Instead of focusing on her physical feelings and needs, she lets her mind wander. Brooke’s case is progressing slowly, but surely. It will take a while for an outcome to finally uprise, but she knows they’ve been going strong. She isn’t afraid of Mrs. DelRio, but she knows Chad’s lawyers are, and rightfully so. Her parents seem to take it easier by the day. Of course this isn’t something you simply get over, a crime was committed against their daughter and it resulted in her death, it is the worst-case scenario for any parent. Still, Katya has observed enough of her parents’ trauma to know the first wave of horrid shock is already past them, and they are now settling into a more rational way of dealing with everything. They sit down to watch TV together after dinner, and they laugh at it. Katya doesn’t hear her father wake up and pace around in the middle of the night anymore. All of their meals are finished at the dinner table and there are no excessive leftovers in their fridge. Most of all, Katya knows how much effort her parents have put on not making her feel responsible for any of it, sharing just enough information with her so she knows everything is being taken care of. </p><p>She sighs. There is only one thing that hasn’t been taken care of. </p><p>“I’m hungry,” Gigi whines. “Feed me.” Crystal laughs as Gigi rests her head against her chest. </p><p>“Girl, me too!” Monét says, peanut butter jar still in hand. “Have we had dinner yet?”</p><p>“Yes,” Crystal says. “There’s leftover pizza in the kitchen, and you can raid the fridge and cupboards too, if you guys want.” She slowly lifts Gigi’s head up, giving her a peck on the lips. Gigi smiles, then tries to stand up, struggling to find balance with her long legs. She reaches to the couch and grabs Monét by the hands, dragging her up and then pushing her into the kitchen. “I guess it’s just us now.”</p><p>Katya smiles but doesn’t move, keeping her gaze on the ceiling. “I think all the brain cells in this house are here in the living room.”</p><p>She hears Crystal giggle. “Had they ever smoked pot before?”</p><p>“Not as much as today,” Katya says. “Monét probably has, but she’s a lightweight.” They both hear dishes clashing in the distance and the microwave beeping. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>“I’m chill. How are you feeling?” </p><p>“Like we should roll another one after those two pass out,” she laughs and Crystal follows along.</p><p>“Hey, let me give you a tarot reading while they’re there!” The girl suggests. Katya sits up and looks at her.</p><p>“How does it work?” She drags her butt along the floor until her back is also against the couch. “Do I have to do anything?”</p><p>“You can ask a question if you want, or I can just get a vibe,” Crystal makes trippy gestures with her hands, stealing a snicker from Katya. The girl starts shuffling the cards. “Don’t take it too seriously, though. If you feel like the card doesn’t apply to you, just ignore it.”</p><p>“Alright. I want to know what my vibe is,” Katya says, watching Crystal work the cards between her hands until one jumps out of the deck and lands face down on the carpet. Crystal raises her eyebrows with a mischievous smile. </p><p>“We have a jumper,” she teases, picking the card up and looking at it. Her eyebrows don’t come down. She turns the card to Katya, who squints a closer look. It shows a couple - Adam and Eve, Katya guesses - standing on opposite ends. Behind them, there is a mountain and some trees, and between them, there is a huge angel wearing blue. Above him, the sun takes up all of the leftover space. “It’s The Lovers.”</p><p>Katya feels her cheeks heat. “Okay, you and your vibe can fuck right off.”</p><p>Crystal laughs. “It’s a good card, trust me, and it goes beyond the romantic meaning, but yeah, it is very attached to it.”</p><p>“What else can it mean?”</p><p>“Communication,” Crystal says. “Harmony. Choices.” She turns the card back to herself, staring at it for a moment. “I know the last few weeks haven’t been easy for you, but I can see how it makes sense. I think choices have been quite a recurring theme, small ones, but big ones too. Meaningful ones.”</p><p>Katya nods ever so slightly. Her brain is still processing everything in brighter colors, so she squints her eyes at her own thoughts as Trixie appears in her mind. Maybe it’s the weed, but she can see every little detail of her face. The faded freckles, the lines that form around her mouth when she smiles, the slight arch of her eyebrows that always makes her look curious, how crooked her big, white glasses are, they’re all there. And just like that, just like her, they’re gone. She knows what choice Crystal is talking about. It isn’t what she wanted, but she had no other option - she needed to let Trixie go. She knew what she had to do from the very moment Trixie left her standing alone in the middle of Chad’s living room. And it hurt like a bitch. </p><p>She was sure the emails wouldn’t do it, but she sent them anyway, almost like a reflex. She also knew that when Monday came, Trixie would be back at the concession stand at The Screen Queen and that no one else would walk in there. She knew what time she had to be there, she knew where she had to stand, she knew exactly what to say. </p><p><em> I think I’m falling in love with you </em>, she thinks. Only thinks. </p><p>The problem is that none of that would be fair to Trixie. It would be too selfish. Trixie owes her nothing, not even forgiveness, let alone love. Letting her go was the right thing to do, even if it was the most painful one. Maybe if Katya repeats it enough times to herself she’ll believe it. </p><p>“You’ve had to learn how to make choices, that’s a better way to put it.” Crystal says, catching Katya’s eyes. “You’re entirely made of fire, you’ll burn anything in front of you before any questions are asked, but you can’t really afford that anymore, can you?” Katya shakes her head. “And it’s funny how choices and communication walk hand in hand. They’re sisters. You can’t be good at one if you haven’t figured the other out, but you’re getting there. You had the choice of hiding what happened to Brooke from your parents. You had the choice not to come out. Still, you chose to tell the truth, to communicate, because you know they deserve to know it, and you know it was the right thing to do.”</p><p>“Yes,” Katya agrees, relieved Trixie wasn’t brought up. “That’s pretty much it.”</p><p>“I think the lesson here is that maybe you need to communicate your choices better. Your family aren’t the only people who deserve the truth, you know…” Crystal suggests.</p><p>“It’s over, Crystal. Trixie hates me,” Katya clarifies, feeling all of her internal organs go into failure. </p><p>“You don’t know that. Remember how I said you’re made of fire?” Katya nods. “When you chose not to tell her the truth right away, even if it didn’t come from a place of malice, you burned her. What you need is a spark, just enough to warm her. She can think for herself. If she doesn’t want it she’ll let you know. After all, this choice isn’t just yours to make,” Crystal points at Eve and then at Adam. “And you can’t take that away from her.”</p><p>“She literally told me that my emails meant nothing to her,” Katya scoffs. “I don’t think I should push it.”</p><p>“You shouldn’t, but… For some reason, I have a feeling you haven’t told her everything yet, have you?” Katya swallows dry. <em> I think I’m falling in love with her </em>, she thinks, breaking eye contact. “By depriving her of the truth, you’re also depriving her of a choice. You know she’ll listen, and it’s at the tip of your tongue. Still, that’s up to you.”</p><p>Once Katya meets Crystal’s face again, the girl’s expression feels like a warm hug, no judgment held in her eyes. “You got all that from <em> one </em> card?” She attempts a joke. They both laugh.</p><p>“No, girl, I got it from <em> the vibe </em>,” Crystal gestures again. Katya throws her head back in laughter, but her chest feels caged. Katya almost rolls her eyes. She knows what she has to do to open it. “Come on, let’s roll another one while they eat.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> November 23rd, 2015. Monday, 08:45 p.m. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The sky is nothing but a void with shiny spots tonight. It is absurdly dark outside, so Katya counts on the streetlights to guide her way down to The Screen Queen. Her feet sink into the snow as she walks, taking large steps in hopes to get there soon, careful not to slip. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest and she’s even wearing a stupid winter hat under the hood of her jacket, but she would rather not talk about it. Not dying of hypothermia is not punk. There is a sheet of paper carefully folded tucked inside of her pocket containing all the words she thinks she might need and it weighs her entire body down. </p><p>It doesn’t take her ten minutes to reach the theater, and even though she was walking fast, she wasn’t anticipating the shock that it would be. The lights coming from the inside are nearly blinding, considering the darkness that floats around them. Right at the corner, she stops, taking a couple of deep breaths in.</p><p>“You got this,” she tells herself. There is absolutely no other soul out in the street and all of the stores are closed. There is no one to witness this act of tremendous stupidity. She stares at the door for a few more seconds, working up the courage, but it doesn’t seem to come. Her blood boils. In a petulant moment, she takes a few steps forward and doesn’t flinch when she pushes the door open with a strength she doesn’t have.</p><p>As soon as she feels the warm air hit her face, she also hears laughter being cut off. Katya wastes no time looking for Trixie’s eyes, and there they are. Small, but wide. Trixie’s mouth hangs open. She’s wearing a hideous red sweater that Katya assumes is part of her uniform, and she pulls the sleeves over her hands. Katya can smell the tension, feeling it around her throat like it’s trying to choke her. </p><p>“Hi,” she says, taking off the hood of her jacket, showing the ridiculous hat. Trixie doesn’t answer right away, shooting a look at Shangela instead. Katya looks at the other girl too, and waves timidly, swallowing dry. Her hands start to shake, so she closes them into fists inside of her pocket before looking back at Trixie.</p><p>“What are you doing here?” Trixie asks. Her voice isn’t loud or aggressive, rather sounding like a whisper. Shangela quickly excuses herself and sneaks into a corner that Katya doesn’t quite catch. </p><p>“I… I needed to talk to you,” she says, reaching for the paper in her pocket and pulling it out. </p><p>“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Katya…”</p><p>“Please,” Katya begs. “I promise it’s important.” </p><p>Trixie sighs. “Okay. I’m listening.” She crosses her arms, fixing her posture and hardening her expression. It flows out of her lips so smoothly Katya would guess she’s already had this same argument with herself in the shower at some point. </p><p>Katya clears her throat, looking down at the sheet in her hand. “Dear Trixie,” she starts, already cringing at her own words. “I know I’ve said I’m sorry a million times already, so I won’t bother you with that,” she reads. “But there are other things I haven’t told you that you need to know.” Trixie’s eyes burn her skin, and she takes a second to breathe. Her hands are trembling so much she can’t understand what is written. </p><p>Katya shakes her head. “Fuck this,” she crumples the paper into a ball, looking back at Trixie’s eyes. Her expression has softened into sadness. “I think I’m falling in love with you, Trixie.” She is met with silence and a step back. “And I tried to find the most beautiful and splendid words to tell you that because you deserve beautiful and splendid things, but I hope my honesty can make up for it.” Katya takes a deep breath but doesn’t wait for a reaction. “I don’t expect you to do anything about it. You don’t have to forgive me, you don’t even have to say my name again if you don’t want to, but I know now that this is your choice to make and not mine.”</p><p>“Katya…” Trixie breathes out. </p><p>“I know I hurt you, even if it was the last thing I wanted to do, but all this time… This is the realest thing I’ve ever felt for anyone. It’s so real it scared me. If there is any chance, as slim as it might be, that maybe you feel the same, you deserve to know it was always real. Painfully real, from the very first moment.”</p><p>“You’re falling in love with me?” Trixie asks, holding tight to her own sleeves.</p><p>Katya nods. “I have been, for a while now. I’ve already hidden too much from you, and I’m trying not to make that mistake again. I understand that coming here and just saying a few words won’t fix what I did to you, it won’t make you trust me again, and you don’t have to. I’m here to give you everything I have for you, but what you do with it is your choice, Trixie.” She sighs. “Now you know.” She turns around and pulls the door open, running out. She can’t afford to look at Trixie’s face right now, knowing she’ll probably never see her again. </p><p>The world is still dark outside, even darker than before. Katya holds back her tears so they don’t freeze against her face. She’s out of breath before she knows it, and the world is so, so lonely. Anxiety pulls at all of her bones, forcing her to stop running and to take up a slower pace instead. Trixie always had a choice, Katya never had to give it to her, but this excruciating final communication between them had finally lightened the heaviness in her lungs because now she knows she truly did all she could, and all she had to do. She’s gonna have to drag Trixie out of her heart all on her own, and the pain already stings her chest. Letting her go is now not only a choice, but a reality. </p><p>Now it’s over. Katya might just stop breathing. </p><p>***</p><p>Trixie’s heart thumps in her ears as she watches Shangie come out of her hiding spot with a thousand questions in her eyes. Trixie looks at her, still breathless, and places a hand over her heart.</p><p>“Did you hear it?” Shangie nods. The air starts becoming scarce around Trixie, and she hyperventilates. “She… She said she’s falling in love with me.”</p><p>“How do <em> you </em> feel, girl?” Her friend asks.</p><p>Trixie’s heart does that thing in which it beats twice at once. <em> I think I’m falling in love with you </em>, she repeats in her own head, being able to see Katya’s face and expression perfectly in her mind. Her blue eyes glistening, her lips slightly shaky, and her eyebrows relaxed. Trixie looks at the door, then back at Shangie. “I feel the same,” she confesses, shaking her head. “I… I’m upset, but,” her hand stiffens against her chest, “I think what I feel for her is bigger than all this… Hurt.”</p><p>“Not to be that bitch, but I think you should go after her. Like, now.” Shangie suggests. </p><p>“Where is my jacket?” Trixie asks, looking under the counter and finding it folded neatly, but grabbing it in a hurry. “I think I can catch up to her. Is… Is it okay if I go?”</p><p>“Yes, Trixie, go!” Shangie urges her, shooing Trixie with her hands. Trixie smiles at her and in a quick motion grabs her phone, racing towards the door. </p><p>The outside is nothing but darkness and silence, except for her own steps muffled against the snow. She looks around, trying to spot any kind of figure under the streetlights. Squinting, she sees it. Small, but robust. And so, she takes off running, faster than she’s ever run before. <em>She’s falling in love with me</em>, Trixie thinks,<em> and I’m falling in love with her.</em> A smile bursts her lips at the seams as she runs impossibly faster, until the ice betrays her and she tumbles down with a thump.</p><p>“Ouch,” Trixie moans. </p><p>“Trixie?” She hears someone call her out, lifting her head to see Katya coming in her direction. “Are you okay?” She offers Trixie her hand. In a second, she’s back on her feet, embracing Katya in a hug before she can say anything about it. “Trixie,” Katya repeats against her neck. She tightens the hug, smelling Katya’s shampoo, and a moment later pulls away, their arms still around each other. When their eyes meet, Trixie forgets everything. There’s always something about her eyes that draws her in and hypnotizes her. </p><p>“I think I’m falling in love with you too,” Trixie murmurs without blinking. Katya’s eyes widen, but her lips part in a smile. Her heart is beating so fast she thinks she might be going into cardiac arrest, but instead of paying attention to that she listens to her instincts, places her hands on either side of Katya’s face. Their skins are always cold when they touch each other, but right now Trixie wouldn’t even be able to tell. She stares down at Katya’s lips, then back at her eyes. Katya draws her closer in response. </p><p>The kiss tastes like words that have been stuck down their throats for too long, like breaths they forgot to take, and like the right choice. Katya’s lips are soft against hers, and the taste of her lipstick floods Trixie’s stomach with butterflies, and bees, and beetles, and any other flying insect she can think of. She caresses Katya’s cheeks and Katya holds tight to the back of her neck. The kiss doesn’t escalate into a hungry mess like it did at the party that day, it remains gentle and caring and it is everything they need. Once they pull away, they join their foreheads together and smile, until droplets start slowly landing on her hair and Katya’s knitted winter hat. </p><p>They look up to see snowflakes dance swiftly all around them, creating an almost fairytale-ish atmosphere. They watch the snow for a second, and then they watch each other. When Trixie kisses Katya again, she feels her smile against her lips. She realizes then that there is no other choice. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Chapter 27</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>She’s never had anything like this before. None of that means they don’t get dirty. They text every day, and among all of the heart emojis there is always a teaser. Katya isn’t okay with the idea of sending pictures, but her words definitely make up for it, telling Trixie exactly what she would do to her, or, in one occasion or two, telling Trixie exactly what she should do with herself. Her confidence does overshadow her obvious lack of experience, or at least, that’s how Trixie’s response to everything makes her feel. When they meet in person, it’s either somewhere public or at Katya’s house, and so far all the slight kissing and touching and breathing has done nothing for Katya except make her hungrier.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*cue George Michael's careless whisper playing in the background* Hello again, my friends. Are you ready for some... sexy times? Thanks to my babes <a href="http://zamo-95.tumblr.com/">Zamo95</a> and <a href="http://fedu31.tumblr.com/">Fedu</a> for absolutely everything, fic related or not. Everyone should have a Zamo95 and a Fedu in their lives and I mean it. Thanks also to all of you who have read and left such sweet comments! Can you believe we're nearly finished with this fic? I'm not ready to let go yet! If you need me, I am on <a href="http://galaxybrunost505.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>! Hope you enjoy this chapter!</p>
<p>(Also I'm terrifyingly insecure about writing smut so any type of feedback will be kindly appreciated thank you very much.)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Date: November 27th, 2015. Friday, 08:23 p.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Katya did end up taking her to a cafe, just like she had mentioned that day at the party. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They met there and stayed until they got dirty looks from the staff, after talking and laughing and holding hands the entire afternoon. At work, Trixie has to pretend that her head is still attached to her neck, but it is actually way up in the sky, surrounded by clouds, butterflies, and Katya. She smiles, feeling her cheeks heat as she hands someone a cup of Coke. “Enjoy your movie,” she says. The middle-aged man thanks her and makes his way into the screening room, knowing fully well the movie has already started. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie uses the lack of any other customers as an opportunity to take out her phone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Trixie</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>hi, i just wanted to say thanks for today :)</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i had a great time </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>can’t wait to see u again</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I have a wild guess of who you’re texting,” Shangie says. Trixie looks up, already smiling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it that obvious?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should see your own face,” the girl laughs. “I’m happy for you, though. If you two didn’t get together after everything you told me the other day I think I’d throw both of you off a bridge.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie laughs. “We went on a date today, a real date.” Shangie rests her chin on her hands, ready to listen. “It was mostly meant for us to talk things over, and we did, but of course we also ended up talking about… I don’t know, everything else. She’s so easy to talk to…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re so in love,” Shangie sighs. “It’s nice to see it. You deserve good things.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, I think </span>
  <em>
    <span>in love</span>
  </em>
  <span> is a strong way to put it… We’re getting there, chill out.” Shangie chuckles, but before Trixie can respond her phone dings. She unlocks it immediately.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Katya</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i had a good time too :D</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i can’t wait to see you again too</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>are you busy tomorrow after work?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>it’s such a long time tho...</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Trixie</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>yep, hanging with D</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>maybe we can do something in the afternoon?</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Katya</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>ugh can’t wait that long :(</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>not to be a needy bitch, but…</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>come over? you could crash here</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Trixie</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>come over???? already??? </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i have to ask my mom first</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i should probably stop by my house to grab some stuff too</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Katya</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>&lt;3 &lt;3 &lt;3 &lt;3</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i can meet you at the screen queen when you’re done with work</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i can lend you a shirt and we have extra toothbrushes </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>gigi and monet do it all the time</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>you literally just have to come</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Trixie</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>have u seen my tits???</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>ur crazy if u think ur shirts would fit me</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Katya</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>is that an invitation tho</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Trixie </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>shut up</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>also maybe</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>is that what we’re doing tonight?</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Katya</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>only if you want to</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>but we don’t have to do anything tbh</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i just need to see your face</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Trixie</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>do u want to?</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Katya</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>yes </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>but i’m not in a rush</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Trixie</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>same </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>but like</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>remember how u kissed me that night?</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Katya</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>literally one of my core memories but go on</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Trixie</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i think about it pretty often tbh</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>and as nice as today was</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>and as cute as it was when u kissed me at my doorstep</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i could really use ur hands on me and ur tongue on my neck</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>:)</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Katya</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i think about it often too</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i think about it so much i can almost feel you there</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i would very much like to get my hands on you</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>bad intentions included or not</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Trixie</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>and what would “getting ur hands on me” involve</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Katya</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>you’re at work</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>maybe we should save it for later</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Trixie</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>… so ur backing out?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>pussy</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i want to know what those bad intentions are </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Katya</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>shut up</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i don’t want to get you in trouble</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Trixie</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i thought u had said it urself i’m already in trouble</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Katya</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>using my own words against me </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>nice </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Trixie</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>don’t pretend u didn’t like it</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i can hear u rolling ur eyes all the way from here</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Katya</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>you better hope shangela doesn’t look at your phone</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Trixie</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>just hit me with it</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Katya</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i noticed how sensitive your neck is that night</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i wonder how loud you’d whimper if i bit you</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>hard </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>until it stings </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>and then pressed my tongue right where it hurts </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i could go lower</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>mark your collarbones with hickeys</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i can already taste your skin under my teeth</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i can hear you whine</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>by the time i get to your tits you’re already gonna be a mess</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i could put my thigh between your legs</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>you wouldn’t resist it</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i can already see you grinding against me with your eyes shut and your mouth wide open</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>but don’t worry</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i’ll get my thigh away from you just in time</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>and start all over at your neck</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>let’s see how long i can make you last</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i know i can go all night</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>can you?</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Trixie</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i’m literally about to block u </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Katya</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>:D</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i mean that sounds like a great plan and all</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>but we really don’t have to go there yet</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Trixie</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i know ur worried about me</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>but i promise u the moment i feel uncomfortable with something i’ll let u know right away</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>also remember that phone call? when u said u didn’t know if u were a top or a bottom?</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Katya</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>what about it?</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Trixie</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i think i got that one figured out</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Katya </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>hahahahahah</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i think we’re done playing this for now, yeah?</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Trixie</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>if u say so</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Katya</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i’ll be there to pick you up in a bit</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>then you’ll get to tell me what you think right to my face</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Trixie</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i hate u</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>can’t wait to see u tho</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>&lt;3</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Katya</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>&lt;3 &lt;3 &lt;3</b>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <b>From: trix</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>hi </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i told my mom i’m spending the night at ur house</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>so if u could cover for me i’d be very happy</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Dela the goth</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>????????????????????</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>where ARE you spending the night tho?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>but yeah sure</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: trix</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>katya’s </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>and thank u, ur the best!! &lt;3</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Dela the goth</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>you absolute slut</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>!!!!!!!!!</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>let me know how it goes tomorrow</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: trix</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>u know i will!</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>love u</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Dela the goth</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>use protection</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>love you</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>November 27th, 2015. Friday, 10:40 p.m. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie is barely done taking out the trash when Katya arrives, and they greet each other with a shy peck. They stand inside in the warmth talking to Shangie for a bit, and when they’re ready to leave Katya offers Trixie her hand and she takes it. The street is dark and slippery, but Trixie barely even pays attention to it, focusing on Katya instead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you do that to all girls? Invite them over after your first date?” Trixie asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Technically that was our second date. The first one was at the party,” Katya explains. “And yes, it’s my go-to move. I normally use a fake name on the internet to talk to them for a semester before doing so too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re an idiot,” she laughs. “Are your parents home?” Katya nods. “Are they okay with you bringing a girl home?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“First of all, you’re not </span>
  <em>
    <span>a girl</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Katya mimics. “You’re way more than that and you know it. Second, they don’t know. We’re sneaking you in.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie stops on the street to stare at Katya. “You’re kidding.” Katya shakes her head and pulls her hand so they keep walking. “Have you done this before?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, Brooke and I always snuck in late, it shouldn’t be too different. And by now they’re probably asleep already. You’ll come and go and they won’t even know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What if they catch us?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That would be an interesting way for you to meet them,” Katya says, a snicker hidden behind her lips. It doesn’t take them long to arrive, and when they do there are no lights on. Katya opens the door silently and then closes it behind Trixie, not turning on any lights and then guiding her upstairs by the hand. Once they get to the hallway, the floorboards creak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yekaterina?” A voice comes from the half-open door to their left. “Are you back from your walk?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, mom,” she responds. Trixie holds back a nervous giggle when Katya turns to her with a finger held up to her lips. “I’ll just go straight to bed now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, </span>
  <span>малышка. доброй ночи”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“доброй ночи,” Katya responds, dragging Trixie to her bedroom as silently as possible. As soon as she shuts the door Trixie lets out a big breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I had never heard you speak Russian,” she whispered. “It’s kinda hot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya kisses her. “I could teach you a thing or two if you’d like.” Trixie nods and kisses her again. “Now let’s get you out of your work clothes.” Katya moves towards her closet while Trixie invites herself to take her shoes off and sit on the bed, watching Katya’s bedroom. She had never been in another girl’s room before, at least not like this. There are posters of rock bands all over the walls, and she’s sure Katya did her best to tidy everything before she came, so there is only one pile of clothes in the corner instead of them all being spread around the floor. Katya comes out of her closet with a red t-shirt in her hand and throws it at Trixie. “I’m sure your tits will be fine with this one, but I don’t have anything that covers your butt.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” Trixie says. She stares at the shirt and then at Katya and then back at the shirt. “Do you mind?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, sorry. I’ll go change in the bathroom while you’re here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks,” she stands up, pressing a soft peck to Katya’s lips. The girl smiles into it, stepping away to get her own pajamas. When Katya leaves the room, she undresses quickly, pulling the t-shirt she’s been handed down her body with some effort, but overall it fits. In Katya’s mirror, Trixie watches her soft tummy being perfectly outlined by the tight shirt, and gives it a quick squeeze. She then folds her work clothes and places them on Katya’s desk, deciding she’s ready to climb into bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It isn’t until her head hits the pillows on Katya’s queen-sized bed that she realizes how heavy her eyelids are. She yawns at her own thought, letting herself coze under the heavy blanket. The light is still a little bright on her eyes, so she turns to the side and closes them, sighing into the pillow. Soon, she hears Katya’s steps approaching the room. Trixie doesn’t turn to see her but hears her turn off the light and then turn on the lamp on the other side of the bed, tucking herself in right next to Trixie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look so sleepy,” Katya whispers, tracing Trixie’s nose and cheeks with her finger. “Are the pillows okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie nods. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was so tired.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya shushes her with a small peck. Trixie doesn’t resist the urge to tangle her legs with the other girl’s, feeling the softness of her skin under hers. “You don’t have to be sorry, зайка.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With her eyes begging to close, Trixie feels a soft flutter against her heart. “Did I get a Russian pet name?” She smiles. Katya doesn’t respond immediately, only smiling back at her. “What does it mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll tell you first thing tomorrow morning, but now you should close your eyes,” Katya whispers, still running her fingers softly all over her face. “Get some sleep. We just need to make sure we’re awake before my parents.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie nods and hugs Katya closer. The girl complies by resting her head against Trixie’s chest. She falls asleep feeling Katya’s hair tickle her chin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>November 28th, 2015. Saturday, 07:30 a.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She is startled awake by a knock on the door. “Yeah?” Katya groans next to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Breakfast is almost ready,” Katya’s mom yells from the hallway. Trixie grunts, lazily opening her eyes. The first thing she sees is Katya’s head still buried in her chest. Apparently, they haven’t moved an inch throughout the night. Katya looks up at her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning,” she whispers, planting a small kiss on Trixie’s chin. She laughs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning. I’m guessing we overslept a little?” Katya nods. “How am I supposed to get out now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” the girl assures her. “You can sneak out while we’re in the kitchen having breakfast, but you have to be silent.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can do that,” Trixie says softly, looking down at Katya, who snuggles closer to her face, kissing her cheeks. “I have morning breath,” she warns. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So do I,” Katya responds, kissing her on the lips. Trixie kisses her back, soon licking Katya’s bottom lip and slipping her tongue inside her mouth. Katya’s hand reaches to the back of her neck, pulling her even closer. Trixie’s hands travel up and down her back, at some point accidentally lifting her shirt a little. Katya seems to lose all sleepiness then, pulling herself on top of Trixie, with a thigh between her legs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you always this eager in the morning?” Trixie mutters into her mouth, and Katya responds by lowering the kisses to her jawline. Trixie bites her lip, letting a whine escape her as she feels her underwear brush against Katya’s thigh. The girl licks a strip up her neck, stealing yet another whine from Trixie. “Fuck,” she moans, this time grinding against Katya’s thigh on purpose. Just as she’d promised, Katya bites her neck. Trixie instinctively covers her mouth, her other hand digging into Katya’s back. She feels the girl smile against her sensitive skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can feel you getting…” Katya starts, but another knock on the door makes her widen her eyes and jump off Trixie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, Yekaterina, I need help with the pancakes!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be right down,” Katya yells back. Trixie’s heart is beating on her throat, and as soon as she hears the heels clack away, she bursts into the quietest fit of laughter she can manage along with Katya. They kiss once again before their chuckles die down. “You need to go, зайка.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You still haven’t told me what that means,” Trixie complains. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s ‘bunny’ in Russian,” Katya kisses her again. “But now you really have to go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know what you were going to say before,” Trixie teases. “What am I gonna do about that now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya grabs her thigh, her hand brushing against the wet underwear. “You’ll get home and you’ll take care of it, зайка.” Katya holds Trixie’s chin, forcing her to look into her eyes. “Can you do that for me?” Trixie nods. “Good girl.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sneaking out is tense, but successful. Unfortunately, the only thing Trixie learns with the experience is that if she could get away with it once, she could get away with it again. She walks home in a rush, trying to avoid as many people as possible, and as soon as she reaches her bedroom, closing the door behind her, she does exactly as she’s been told. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>December 19th, 2015. Saturday, 5:50 a.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They’ve been doing it for an entire month now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya picks Trixie up at The Screen Queen when her shift is over, sneaks her into the house, and watches her fall asleep. It’s an intimate little routine that has grown on her from day one. Last night, they laid together for a while before dozing off. They whispered secrets into each other’s mouths and Katya even managed to teach her a few words in Russian. Trixie always falls asleep first, and Katya has no complaints about it. It’s the only time Trixie is truly serene and calm, and Katya’s heart always beats a little faster from watching her there, maybe with her mouth open, sometimes snoring softly into the pillow. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She’s the prettiest girl I know</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Katya thinks every time, watching the dim lighting of the room accommodate Trixie’s silhouette. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is nothing inherently sexual about sleeping with Trixie, and Katya doesn’t mind it. It’s always delicate and intimate getting to touch her while she wears Katya’s stretched out shirts, and her lips are always soft when Katya brushes against them with her own. She’s never had anything like this before. None of that means they don’t get dirty. They text every day, and among all of the heart emojis there is always a teaser. Katya isn’t okay with the idea of sending pictures, but her words definitely make up for it, telling Trixie exactly what she would do to her, or, in one occasion or two, telling Trixie exactly what she should do with herself. Her confidence does overshadow her obvious lack of experience, or at least, that’s how Trixie’s response to everything makes her feel. When they meet in person, it’s either somewhere public or at Katya’s house, and so far all the slight kissing and touching and breathing has done nothing for Katya except make her hungrier. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wakes up to her alarm buzzing under her pillow, turning it off in a quick motion. It’s still dark outside, but she forgot to turn off the lamp on her bedside table last night and it provides her with enough illumination to turn back to Trixie and let a hot breath out over her neck. The girl doesn’t seem to feel it at all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wake up,” Katya whispers in her ear, tapping along Trixie’s back under her shirt. “You have to go soon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Trixie responds, pulling the bedcovers over her head. Katya laughs, pulling them back down and planting a kiss on her nose, then her cheek. Trixie softens under her touch, and she sees it as a sign to keep going. She kisses her lips ever so slightly. “Maybe yes,” the girl says, eyes still shut. Katya kisses her eyelids. “You spoil me too much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I spoil you just enough, I could do better,” Katya replies. Trixie opens her eyes. “Oh, is that what it takes to wake you up?” Trixie chuckles and wraps her arms tightly around Katya. “You want to be spoiled then, that’s what it is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kiss me,” Trixie whispers. Katya complies happily, leaving a soft trail of pecks along her jawline until she reaches Trixie’s mouth. The girl’s hands get caught amidst Katya’s hair, pulling her impossibly closer, and her legs rub softly against her own. She takes the hint, deepening the kiss and burying her nails on Trixie’s back, earning a small moan. “How long do we have until your parents are up?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A while,” Katya says into her mouth. She feels herself being pulled on top of the other girl and smirks. “And I’m the one who’s eager in the morning?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie doesn’t respond, pushing Katya’s head down to her neck. Katya leaves a wet trail with her mouth, holding Trixie’s jaw up. “Touch me,” the girl asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re asking a lot of things from me,” Katya mutters against her collarbones, sliding her hands under Trixie’s shirt and up to her breasts, feeling them out and rubbing the heel of her hand against her nipples. “Is this how you want me to touch you?” Trixie nods. “Should I use my mouth too?” This time the girl bites her lip, and Katya wastes no time helping her pull her shirt off, throwing it on the floor. Everything about Trixie’s body looks splendid, Katya notices as she runs her hands around her stomach and her chest. “You’re so hot,” she says softly, lowering her mouth over Trixie’s tits, giving sloppy wet kisses, running her tongue over her nipples as Trixie starts squirming under her. “You have no idea what it’s like having to see you wear these tight shirts with nothing underneath them,” she nibbles at her nipple, then sucks a hickey on Trixie’s breast. The girl exhales sharply. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Trixie moans softly. Katya sucks harder, sliding a hand down to feel her underwear. As she suspected, it’s already wet. Her fingers dig against it, rubbing Trixie’s clit over the thin piece of fabric. “Katya, please…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please fuck me,” Trixie whimpers quietly, her voice almost cracking. Katya looks her in the eyes when she slides her hand into her panties, feeling the wetness around her entrance. She drags her fingers all around, spreading it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you want me to do to you?” Katya kisses her neck. “Do you want me to use my fingers or my mouth?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“F-fingers,” Trixie says softly. Katya brings her hand back up from her little pink panties, fingers still wet, and slowly pushes them against Trixie’s lips until they’re all the way inside her mouth, her tongue flickering over them, making them even wetter. Trixie hums against them in approval.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Two fingers?” Trixie nods, mouth still stuffed. Katya kisses the corner of her mouth as she pulls the fingers out. “Good girl.” Katya kisses Trixie deeply as she presses her middle finger all the way inside of her, moving it so slightly she’s sure Trixie barely feels it, and after a few pumps, she adds another one. She bites her own lip to avoid gasping at how tight Trixie feels around her, while her own underwear dampens. “Is this okay?” Trixie nods again. Katya fingers her with no rush, showing the kind of gentleness she doesn’t usually share with the world. “Listen to how wet you are, just for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Faster,” she asks. Katya obliges, taking the opportunity to run her thumb over Trixie’s clit. It’s a bit messy, but she knows she’s applying just enough pressure to get the job done once she rips an absurdly loud moan out of Trixie’s lips. She doesn’t stop or slow down, but smacks her other hand over Trixie’s mouth, muffling her whines and whimpers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Katya whispers harshly, feeling the entire lower half of her body freeze with panic. Trixie’s breath hitches. “Oh, shit, you like this.” She nods. “Alright, then,” Katya lowers down to her ear, biting her lobe. “I’m not sure whether you like me telling you to shut up this way or if you like the idea of trying not to be loud, so I’ll say this just to make sure: you better keep your pretty little whore mouth shut or else I’ll have to shove my fingers in your mouth again to keep you quiet.” Trixie’s eyes widen. “Too much?” She jerks her hips. “That’s what I thought.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya removes her hand from Trixie’s mouth, holding her by the chin instead. “Look at me,” she whispers, gazing into the pink-haired girl’s eyes. Trixie's hips start bucking up and down and she tightens around Katya’s fingers. She almost wants to slow down her pace to ruin Trixie’s buildup and make her beg for more, make her beg Katya to let her come, but instead, she curves her fingers more, getting extra pressure on her g-spot. “Are you going to come?” Trixie whimpers, closing her eyes. “Look at me,” Katya insists, covering her mouth again as the girl opens her eyes. “You have to be quiet, okay зайка?” Trixie nods. “Come for me, Trixie.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya feels Trixie squirming under her touch, breathing getting harder, and muscles tensing. She rides her through her orgasm, making sure to slow her fingers down once she sees Trixie is completely done, sliding them out slowly and drawing them up to her own lips. “You taste so good, зайка.” She kisses Trixie knowing very well she still can’t breathe straight. “You are such a good girl for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sure this is the first time you’ve done this?” Trixie mumbles against her lips, her voice shaky. Katya smirks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve read enough lesbian Lady Gaga fanfiction in my days,” she responds. Trixie rolls her eyes. “But look who’s talking, Ms.Kinky Boots.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie blushes. “You weren’t complaining when you were elbow-deep inside of me, but okay.” Katya kisses her with a smile as Trixie reaches to touch her underwear. It’s nearly dripping. “In fact, I think you were enjoying yourself. I bet you could have some more of that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, it’s fine. You really should get going,” Katya brushes it off. “We can do it another time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie shakes her head. “I’m not going anywhere until I make you come,” she murmurs, switching their positions to prop herself on top of Katya. “It’s only fair.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya’s eyes darken and she grabs Trixie by the chin again. The girl licks her bottom lip, the tip of her tongue reaching Katya’s hand. “Eat me out,” Katya orders. “Like you mean it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Outside, the darkness persists, and Katya knows the sun won’t rise until seven something, eight o’clock maybe, which is the only guarantee she has that they have some time left for this, but it doesn’t stop her from rushing. She feels Trixie’s hands slithering down her body, stopping at her hips. Trixie breathes against her panties, planting tiny wet kisses all over it, which makes Katya’s breathing become a little heavier. Trixie tugs at the fabric and Katya lifts her hips, allowing her to take them off, but in no time she can already feel Trixie’s hot breath again, this time against her bare skin. “I can’t believe I get to see you like this,” Trixie hums, using her fingers to navigate through Katya’s folds and exposing her clit. Before she can speak again, Katya pushes her head down with an impatient grunt and the girl smiles right on her before licking a firm strip up her cunt, mixing up her own spit with Katya’s wetness. She feels Trixie work her mouth around her clit, switching between sucking and using her tongue and throws her head back, knowing she isn’t allowed to make any kind of noise. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya thrusts her hips up to meet Trixie’s mouth, and for a while, she holds her head down, barely letting her breathe. Once she starts letting out accidental soft cries, she forces herself to cover her own mouth, just like she had done to Trixie before. The girl seems to get the hint and only comes up for air occasionally, sucking hard on Katya’s clit and then running her tongue over it with a little too much pressure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You taste good,” Trixie mutters into her. “So good.” The vibrations of Trixie’s voice against her sensitive skin send chills up and back and her lower stomach gets colder, just like when you ride a rollercoaster and the drop comes. Katya shuts her eyes tightly, hoping it will somehow help keep her silent, but the lack of sight only strengthens the feeling of Trixie’s tongue running circles and stripes over her clit, even the slight clash of her teeth against it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Letting her body take over, Katya’s thighs squeeze shut around Trixie’s head. She doesn’t seem to mind it much, understanding what Katya means and deepening her mouth against her pussy. Katya can feel Trixie’s nose against her too, the short breaths coming out teasing her even closer to her release. “I’m close,” she mutters, freeing her mouth and grabbing the sheets next to her with a little violence in her hands. She understands now why she’s been conditioned to think sex is unholy: Trixie’s head feels absolutely sinful between her legs. “Fuck, Trixie, I’m…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She comes all over Trixie’s mouth, and the aftershocks start when the girl decides to lick her clean. Katya’s breath is still out of pace when Trixie lies back next to her. They stay there for a moment, taking each other in. “I can’t believe we just did that,” Trixie whispers in a giggle. Katya kisses her. “I get the hype now.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Through her window, Katya sees a sneak peek of the sun coming up. “I hate that it has to end like this, but if you don’t go now we’re gonna get in trouble.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie sways a strand of hair away from Katya’s face. “I thought we were already in trouble.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>December 19th, 2015. Saturday, 08:12 a.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Katya eats her breakfast with a certain ferocity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s so focused on recharging her energy through waffles that she almost misses out on the silence at the table, not paying attention to how the clinking of mugs and forks and knives are the only sounds to be heard. That’s until her mother clears her throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yekaterina, we need to talk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay?” Katya says with her mouth full. It’s probably about Brooke’s case, she figures. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We, as a family, are doing our best to respect you and your… Identity,” Irina explains, avoiding her face. “And as happy as we are that you are finding yourself, we also…” She sighs. “There are some boundaries you have overstepped.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Goosebumps run down her arms. “What your mother is trying to say is that all of the house rules still apply to you,” George says, holding his coffee mug with both hands. “We don’t want you to think we’re only saying this because you are gay, these rules have always applied to your sister just the same.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“W-what do you mean?” Katya asks, sipping her hot chocolate and feeling it burn her tongue. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t keep bringing girls home like this,” her mother states. Katya widens her eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, no. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Especially if you’re not going to be discreet about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya almost spits her drink out, feeling her cheeks heat and burn. Every single bone in her body is shattered and mortified. “So you heard it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Some of it, yes,” George confirms. “We've been hearing things for a while, but what happened today crossed every line, kid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh,” Katya hides her face. “I’m sorry… I swear it seems like a bigger deal than it actually is, nothing had happened before but…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The big deal is that you are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> allowed to bring any kind of fling here, especially if you’re going to sneak them in,” Irina chimes in. “This not only goes against the house rules, but it also goes against our beliefs. And I thought we had taught you better than to keep running around with a different girl every week, for God’s sake.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not different girls, it’s the same girl,” Katya mutters, scratching her head. “We’ve been seeing each other for a while now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>George puts his mug down, looking at Irina, then at Katya. “You have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>girlfriend</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The word girlfriend stings Katya’s lungs. “Technically yes, but we haven’t really talked about it yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When were you going to tell us that?” He insists.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya shrugs. “I figured I wouldn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You better talk to her, then, because you won’t be bringing her home again before she meets us,” Irina says. “Вы понимаете меня?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nods. “Got it.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Chapter 28</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sometimes she feels like she should hold Trixie more often instead of letting herself be held, but there is no other moment like this, even if neither of them says a thing. There is no amount of copious fucking or abundant fortune or restless fame that could ever compare to the feeling of knowing she’s in her favorite place in the world: between the arms of the girl she loves.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello everyone! Had to break my updating schedule due to a busy week at work, but here is chapter 28! Thanks to everyone for reading and leaving such kind and thoughtful comments, especially to my girls <a href="http://zamo-95.tumblr.com/">Zamo95</a> and <a href="http://fedu31.tumblr.com/">Fedu</a> who are always there for me &lt;33 If you need me, you can find me on <a href="http://galaxybrunost505.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>! Happy reading!</p>
<p>TW: mention of suicide, implied sexual harassment, underage drug use, excessive fluff and cheesiness. You've been warned.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>December 19th, 2015. Saturday, 03:20 p.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Katya had never been inside her house before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On their first date, which was technically the second but Trixie is willing to die on this hill, she walked Trixie home and kissed her at her doorstep. Trixie didn’t invite her in because she was too busy squealing like a twelve-year-old One Direction fan on the inside and needed a moment to get herself back together before she went to work, but she wanted to. That is why getting Katya’s text asking her to hang out this afternoon was nice. Especially after what happened this morning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sight of Katya cross-legged on her couch squinting at her TV with the remote in hand trying to find something to watch brings her the strange sense of a familiarity that isn’t quite there yet, but will be. Trixie comes back from the kitchen with tea and sets the mugs down on the coffee table, hopping on the sofa next to the other girl. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I’ve found what seems like the worst movie ever made,” she turns to Trixie. “It’s about Nazi zombies in the snow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You made that up,” Trixie says, sporting a playful smile and not looking at the TV. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I promise it’s real. It’s Norwegian or something,” Katya points at the TV and Trixie follows her finger. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span> let me watch it.” Trixie giggles and rolls her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only because you’re cute,” she kisses Katya’s cheek. The girl does a little victory dance and presses play, then reaches out to get her tea. Turns out it really is the worst movie ever made, and they can’t go five minutes without spotting something ridiculous and laughing at it. Ten minutes into it, their thighs touch when Katya shifts her position. Twelve minutes in, Trixie’s hand rests on the girl’s knee. By the time the fifteen-minute mark hits, Katya has managed to squeeze herself between Trixie’s legs after pushing the girl down onto the couch. Both of them warm their hands under each other’s sweaters, leaving trails of goosebumps down their spines. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya brings her lips to Trixie’s neck and starts fiddling with the hem of her bra, fingers trying to slither under the fabric to touch her. “No,” Trixie says, feeling chills flourishing on the lower part of her stomach. “My mom will be home early today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re such a party-pooper,” Katya grunts, but gives her another kiss anyway, then sighs, still looking into Trixie’s eyes. “I’m just being nice because I need to talk to you about some stuff.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, do you have another secret identity?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s kinda serious.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” Trixie feels Katya’s weight pull away from her as the girl fixes her posture. She focuses on trying to read Katya’s face, observing how wide her eyes are and how swollen her lips look. Her own heart starts beating a little faster, conjuring a way too familiar feeling at the bottom of her throat. “You’re scaring me. I-is it about this morning? Did I do something wrong?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, fuck no,” her hand is enveloped in Katya’s, who gives her a reassuring smile. “Though we should probably talk about that too because I really enjoyed it. I couldn’t have asked for, like, a better first time than that. You really are something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blood rushes to her cheeks. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> something? What was that again, </span>
  <em>
    <span>keep your little whore mouth shut or I’ll shove my fingers in it to keep you quiet?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, that was the best part,” Katya chuckles. “But you do have a point. I guess </span>
  <em>
    <span>we</span>
  </em>
  <span> are something then.” She feels Katya’s breath against her lips as the girl leans closer to her, kissing her again. It tastes like honey, and Trixie forgets it’s from the tea, basking in Katya’s lips. “That’s kinda what I want to talk to you about,” Katya bites her own lip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Trixie asks. Their foreheads rest against each other. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean we should maybe put our name to… Whatever this is,” Katya stares into her eyes. “If you’re okay with that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie smiles and her heart beats out of place. She cups Katya’s jaw with her hands, feeling how soft her skin is against them and kissing her. “I think you should start calling me your girlfriend,” she mutters against Katya’s lips, then kisses her cheeks. Trixie could kiss every inch of her skin and it still wouldn’t be enough. Katya’s fingers intertwine into her pink curls, pulling her impossibly closer. “I’m yours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their kiss deepens as Katya’s hands start to close around her hair, pulling it a little. She doesn’t mind the sting, in fact, she swallows back a moan. “So we’re dating?” Katya asks. In a swift movement, Trixie pushes her against the back of the couch and rolls on top of her, sitting on Katya’s knees. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re dating,” she smiles. Katya’s hands travel to her hips and she can feel the dig of her fingers. Trixie’s wearing a pair of pajama shorts that, like most things, are a little too short on her. “You’re my girlfriend.” She feels Katya’s hands make their way down to her ass and takes it as a sign to keep going, diving into her lips. The warmth of Katya’s touch against her bare skin is almost enough to make her wet. Maybe Katya’s hands should be on her ass more often. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s just one little detail,” Katya manages to mumble, sliding her hands under her shorts and grabbing her ass cheeks with a little too much force. Trixie kisses her jawline, humming so Katya knows she can talk, but she isn’t really listening. Instead, she chooses to focus on how hard her ass is being squeezed. “My parents want to meet you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She freezes halfway through the kiss, slowly pulling away from Katya. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why</span>
  </em>
  <span> would your parents want to meet me if they don’t even know I exist?” Katya looks away from her eyes. “Katya…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Remember when I told you to shut your little whore mouth or I’d… You know,” she lifts two fingers and shows them to Trixie. “Maybe next time we should try that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re joking.” Katya shakes her head. “They heard us?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, to be fair I think they heard </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Katya explains. Trixie pushes her shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I will never be able to look them in the eye,” Trixie whispers under her breath. “What did they say about it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That they already knew I was sneaking people in,” Katya offers. “I think at first they were just too embarrassed to confront me about it because they thought it was more than one girl. And they didn’t really say it, but they aren’t big fans of the whole pre-marital lesbian sex thing. I explained it has only been one girl all along so at least they’re glad I haven’t slept with the whole town.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They think we’ve been fucking this whole time?” Trixie yells. Katya nods with a half-hearted smile. “Shit, Katya, they’re gonna think I’m a slut!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t really think that explaining that what they heard was the sound of our virginities saying goodbye would make it any less awkward… But honestly, it’s all on me. You’re lovely. At most, they won’t understand what a girl like you is doing with a girl like me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think they heard what a girl like me is doing with a girl like you,” Trixie snaps back. “They’ll hate me and they’ll never allow me back into your house.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Katya has the chance to answer, Trixie hears the sound of keys at the front door. Her instinct is to freeze like a hare under headlights, but Katya pushes her off her lap right as Nina opens the door. She tries her best to position her arms and legs in a natural way but ends up looking like a poorly executed Picasso painting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Trix, I’m… Oh, there you are,” she smiles, setting her purse and keys down. “And who’s this? I don’t think we’ve met before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi, I’m Katya,” Katya stands up with the widest smile Trixie has ever seen on her face. She ignores the urge to roll her eyes, knowing she needs to wait for her breathing to normalize before trying to say or do anything. “I’m Trixie’s friend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think she’s ever mentioned you before, dear! I’m Nina, Trixie’s mom. Do you go to school together?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I go to Sacred Heart of Jesus, actually. You know, nuns and having to wear skirts in Wisconsin winter.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It earns Katya a good giggle from her mom, Trixie observes. She remains petrified. “Well, it is nice to meet you, Katya! I’m ordering in tonight, would you like to stay for dinner?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She was about to leave,” Trixie interrupts. Katya turns to her with a glare. “I need to start getting ready for work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe next time, then. I’ll leave you girls to it, I need to get out of these work clothes!” Nina pulls at her scrubs. She excuses herself and jogs upstairs. Katya sits back down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You really want me to go?” Trixie nods, biting her lip. “I’m sorry, </span>
  <span>зайка.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need some time to think about this deal with your parents,” Trixie says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you mad at me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie smiles softly, pecking Katya on the lips. “I’m just scared.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, don’t be,” Katya begs, pulling her closer. “They’ll love you. See, your mom </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved</span>
  </em>
  <span> me and I’m a terrible person on many different levels, why wouldn’t my parents like you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but my mom doesn’t know what I was doing with my mouth this morning,” Trixie argues in a whisper. “And we’ll keep it that way for now. I’ve already been outed twice, I need to have at least this one go my way.” Katya’s fingers reach to her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” she agrees, pressing a kiss to Trixie’s lips. “We can tell her whenever you’re ready.” Trixie nods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have to go now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do I feel like this is becoming a consistent theme with us?” Katya asks and Trixie cackles, but as soon as she leans closer to Katya, she hears footsteps on the stairs and jerks away from her. Katya stands up quickly, tapping down her own sweater. Trixie guides her to the door, and on her porch, front door closed behind them, Katya turns to her before leaving. “Are you still my girlfriend?” She asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll think long and hard about that,” Trixie sighs, stepping closer to her. “But hey, maybe if you shut </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> little whore mouth I’ll give you a shot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not getting over that so soon, are you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll get over it as soon as you tell me something filthier,” Trixie responds, brushing her lips against Katya’s in the cold December air. “Text me when you get home?” Katya nods, and just like that she’s gone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>December 22nd, 2015. Tuesday, 12:00 p.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie regrets having said yes to lunch with Katya’s parents the very second she walks into their house. This is not at all how she thought her Christmas break would be going. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya is right there at the door waiting for her, showing her where to put her shoes before walking into the living room and helping her hang her jacket. She realizes how wide her eyes must be and how pale her skin must have gotten when Katya reaches to whisper in her ear. “You’ll be fine,” she promises. Trixie tries her hardest to believe it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Both of Katya’s parents are intimidating, but weirdly nice. Irina is a tall woman with a slim body and what seem to be the best fitting clothes Trixie has ever seen. Her entire outfit fits her perfectly, even the little apron wrapped around her waist when they first meet in the kitchen. Her hair is dyed black, and it’s short and straight. She guesses her natural color is similar to Katya’s. Well, their eyes are the exact same shade of blue, so maybe they used to look more like each other in the past. George isn’t as tall as his wife and sports a small tummy. His ginger hair is thin and short, but his mustache is a little too big for Trixie’s taste. His brow seems to be permanently furrowed, yet Trixie does catch a small smile twist itself on his lips every once in a while. Over lunch they ask her about school, about her family, her future, and how she met Katya. Even though Trixie thought she’d hate it, she seems to answer every question according to their expectations. She’s always been good at tests anyway. Trixie feels like they truly are on her side when she realizes they haven’t mentioned anything about the video in which she leaves Katya alone at the party. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After they’re finished with dessert, Irina clears her throat. From the look on Katya’s face she can already guess what’s coming. “So,” the mother starts, “I think there are some rules we need to discuss.” Trixie simply nods, hoping her cheeks aren’t too red. “First of all, Trixie you are always welcome to come and stay over, but the bedroom door stays open at all times, day or night. This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> up for discussion.” Before Katya can protest, Trixie has already agreed. Apparently, the testing isn’t over. “You two are not allowed to be alone in the house when George and I aren’t here either.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Trixie says. “Are there any rules about going on dates?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie notices Irina hold back a smile. “Thanks for asking, Trixie. That is very considerate of you. See, I’ve always tried to set curfews with Yekaterina, but she never follows them. I’ll just ask you to tell us where you’re going and what time you’ll be back.” She sips her glass of water, her expression shifting into a harsher look. “I’m sure you’re aware of what our family is going through, yes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. I’m sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We know you kids go to parties and we have no way of controlling what you do there. Naturally, I assume you’ll be going to a few of those together. We just want you to know that no matter what time it is and no matter what happened, you can </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> call us. We’ll be there as soon as possible.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Especially if you’ve been drinking,” George says. “We do not condone that, but some things are more important than others. Your safety is more important, I mean. And, Trixie, you seem to have a good head on your shoulders. We trust you to take good care of Katya.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You talk like we’re getting married,” Katya grunts. “Chill out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That will not be a problem, Mr. and Mrs. Hytes,” Trixie confirms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I ask if your mother has any other rules about dating?” Irina inquires.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie swallows dry. “My mom doesn’t know that Katya and I… Well, she doesn’t know that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span>…” She coughs, feeling Katya’s hand grip hers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. Alright.” Irina sighs. “Anyway, you seem to be a sensible girl. I know you’ll make good choices.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The girls offer to clear the table and do the dishes. When they’re done, Trixie is dragged upstairs by Katya and the bedroom door stays open. They sit in bed together, Katya placing her hand on Trixie’s thigh and gripping it. “I told you they’d love you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know what I was expecting,” Trixie sighs, “but I’m happy with the way things went. Your dad is so sweet,” she giggles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He was surprisingly nice throughout the whole thing, to be honest… I thought he’d be the one to give me a headache, not my mom.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie gulps. “You know, I’ve been dreading telling my mom forever, but I feel strangely encouraged after talking to your parents. I guess if you were able to get over everything with your mom I should be able to do so too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Katya reaches for her hand. “Your mom is literally the single nicest person I’ve ever met and she loves you more than anything. I know in my heart she’ll take it well, but if she doesn’t you can always come to us until things are sorted out, yeah?” Trixie nods. “It’s just a conversation. You’ve had plenty of those before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But I’m not very good at them,” Trixie responds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, if you aren’t then how come your sweet talk managed to land you the hottest girlfriend in the world?” Katya wiggles her eyebrows. Trixie jokingly punches her arm. “Also, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> just convince my parents that you’re an amazing girlfriend. I guess that’s because you really are.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m under the impression they think I’ll be a good influence on you…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will you?” Katya leans closer with a smirk. Trixie bites her girlfriend’s lip before kissing her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What makes you think I won’t?” One of her eyebrows shoots up. “I’m starting to guess that if we got in any kind of trouble you’d get the blame anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Trouble?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie pushes Katya down onto the mattress. “We need to learn how far we can get with that door open,” she mumbles against her ear, placing a kiss right under it. “Trouble.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their lips meet, hungry and sloppy. They test their luck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>December 24th, 2015. Thursday, 02:16 p.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It took a lot less convincing she had originally thought it would take. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie’s hand is firm on hers when they walk into the cemetery, the pockets of their winter jackets heavy with pretty stones they collected before coming. Katya knows where to go, but feels her feet hesitate. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Trixie whispers to her. There are footprints on the snow, but no one else is around. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have to,” Katya says back. She takes a deep breath and resumes her path with Trixie by her side. They pass by the Groffs, by that woman whose funeral Katya knows no one came to, by Gigi’s uncle, and they turn to the right after they spot the little baby’s tomb. Brooke’s place of rest is kept immaculate and beautiful. Her parents usually comment on the flowers people leave, and today her grave looks like a garden of its own. It’s spring right in the middle of December. The gravestone has her full name engraved on it along with the sentence: “loving daughter and sister.” The words fly through Katya’s chest like an arrow. She takes a step forward and touches it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can start if you need some time,” Trixie offers. She nods, feeling her throat close. “Alright. Hi, Brooke. You don’t know me, but I know you. My name’s Trixie and I’m Katya’s girlfriend - yes, you were right about that.” It rips a quiet chuckle from Katya’s lips, along with an eye roll. “A lot of things have happened since you passed, but all you need to know is that people are getting what they deserve. I can’t even begin to imagine how terrifying everything must have been, but you weren’t alone and you still aren’t, just so you know.” Trixie clears her throat and Katya hugs her closer. “Katya talks about you a lot. Mostly the good things, occasionally a snarky comment, but I guess that’s a sister thing. You sound like a lot of fun and I would have loved to meet you, Brooke. I-I never thought I’d be able to miss someone I never met, but you’re so present everywhere that I truly feel like I have met you. People say things like ‘gone, but not forgotten’, and I don’t know… I don’t think you’re gone at all. You’re everywhere. A lot of girls are having justice being served to them because of you. Your mom told me she still buys that brand of cheese and yogurt you liked, even if she prefers another one. Katya makes me watch Ten Thing I Hate About You all the fucking time. All of that, some other things. I don’t know where you really are right now, but you can rest. Everyone still loves you and misses you, but they’ll be fine. They - </span>
  <em>
    <span>we </span>
  </em>
  <span>have all found a way to move on with our lives, but still take you with us.” Trixie reaches into her pocket and places a pebblestone on her grave. “You will be forever, Brooke. You would have been anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie dries her own tears as Katya reaches up to kiss her cheek. “That was great, зайка. Thank you.” Her girlfriend nods. “Brooke would have loved to meet you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya kneels down on the ground, wetting her jeans with snow before grazing her gloved hand over the stone. “Hi there,” she almost whispers. “This has all been one huge fucking mess, huh? But it’s fine, we’re working our way out of it. I’ve missed you, Brooke. Every single day since you left I have missed you.” Her eyes become warmer and full. The tears drag themselves down slowly. “A lot of people said like ‘oh, she won’t be there for graduation’, or ‘she’ll never get to see your wedding’, and as heartbreaking as that is… Fuck it. When I get home today and I sit on the couch you won’t be watching Buffy. You won’t come into my bedroom tonight looking for chapstick because you’ve lost yours. You won’t tell me to go get something at the store for you because you’re too lazy to go yourself. You won’t offer to help me with my homework. That is what fucks me up, Brooke. I don’t fucking know if I’ll ever get married or if I even wanna go to my graduation, but I know I’ll be home tonight looking for a TV show, and my chapstick will be on my desk, and I go to the grocery store every Thursday anyway, and I’ll be avoiding my homework just the same. The thing is I have to do all of that without you now. It’s not the same.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stops for a moment to swallow down the knot tied in her throat, feeling Trixie’s warmth grow closer to her as the girl swings an arm over her shoulder and pulls her closer, knees hitting the ground beside her. For a second, she lets herself melt into the only comfort she can find, crying into Trixie’s chest as the pink-haired girl runs her hands over her hair. “I’m sorry,” she sobs. “I’m so fucking sorry, Brooke. I can’t even say I don’t understand why you didn’t say anything because, you know, I’m also not very good at sharing stuff, but… Fuck, I wish I could have done something. Anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Baby,” Trixie calls softly into her hair, “look at everything you’ve done for her. The very minute you knew what happened you took immediate action. You’ve done everything in and beyond your power.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But none of that will bring her back,” Katya cries, not looking at her girlfriend. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It won’t,” the girl agrees. “And neither will crying, or praying, or putting Chad in jail. We’ve been over this, yeah?” Katya nods. “We’re doing things that make Brooke exist a little more every time we do them. She’s never really gone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re right… Sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A pair of lips kisses the top of Katya’s head. “Don’t apologize, baby, it’s alright. Do you want to say more?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I do,” Katya wipes away her tears, feeling the roughness of her woolen gloves graze against the thin skin under her eyes. “I want to say I’m sorry I never told you about myself. The lesbian thing, I mean. I’m sure you’ve known all along, but I should have said something anyway. It seems like such a silly thing now, even mom and dad would agree. That is like… My one big regret. I wonder how different things would have been had I said anything. I ended up coming out because of you, which to me is the funniest part. Mom didn’t take it very well at first, but dad didn’t mind it much. It was a rough couple of weeks, but you should really see how things are now.” She turns to Trixie, who offers a kind smile. “I never thought one day I’d be able to take my girlfriend home and watch her bake Christmas cookies with mom, but I got to see that today.” Trixie kisses the corner of her mouth before Katya turns back to Brooke’s tombstone. “I wish you’d been there. You’d get along well with Trixie, I think. I’d probably just third-wheel for you two,” she chuckles softly before sighing. “A lot has changed since you left, and it has changed for the better. Right after everything happened, mom and dad fought all the time and I couldn’t fucking stand to be home. It took me a while to digest everything and learn how to live with it, and Trixie helped me a lot along the way. Then… Shit, I’ll never forget their faces that night at the police station. I legit thought dad was going to throw up when they brought up the video,” Katya shudders. Trixie holds her tighter. “Think worst-case scenario. I mean, you literally killed yourself over that, so I think you get it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie turns to her, scandalized. “Katya!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s true!” She justifies, then shakes her head, still feeling the disapproval in Trixie’s gaze burning over her face. “Anyway, we didn’t sleep well for almost a week, but dad hired a badass lawyer to take care of the case and, I shit you not, that was the turning point. I guess… When you k-” Trixie clears her throat. “When you </span>
  <em>
    <span>passed</span>
  </em>
  <span> we didn’t really know what was going on because we didn’t understand what, you know, what drove you to that. Now that we know what really happened and we’re doing something about it the entire dynamic in our family has changed. Maybe it’s because we don’t feel so impotent anymore. It won’t bring you back, but it’s all we can do.” Katya sighs. “I won’t lie to you, sometimes I second guess what would mom and dad’s reaction have been if you had told them back then. My situation wasn’t even close to what happened to you and they kinda turned on me when I needed them. I know I wouldn’t have turned on you, but I was sixteen. There isn’t much I would’ve been able to do other than beat the shit out of Chad.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And that you did,” Trixie mutters under her breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You bet your fucking ass I did.” Katya smiles, but it fades quickly. “I’m sure by now they’ve learned their lesson, but at what fucking cost. I still find it hard to forgive them some days, but I know you would have forgiven them by now. That helps me calm down. Fuck, I don’t know how many fucking times I could have used just </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> word from you to calm down these past few months. I miss you so much, Brooke.” The flow of tears starts spilling again. “I often think like, ‘oh what would Brooke say’ or ‘what would Brooke do’ and it helps a lot, because you always had the best intentions. Even when you did something bad, there was always something behind it and I still trust your gut like I’ll never trust my own. It’s nice to pretend you’re the one saying those things to me, I make myself hear it in my head.” Katya pauses and looks up for a bit, sniffling before looking back down. “I also do that because I’m afraid I’ll forget what your voice sounds like.” Trixie pulls her even closer and Katya rests her head on her girlfriend’s shoulder, letting her tears roll onto her winter jacket. “It used to be worse, though. The first few weeks were </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> heavy. Things are still heavy, I think all of us just learned how to be stronger. Cleaning out your room helped. It was the first thing we did together as a family after you left, it made it more real for us. And that’s what this is… Painful, but real. It’s just our life now and you’re not in it in the same way anymore. There is no getting over death, but there is managing. We’ll get by.” Katya snorts. “I remember when you made me watch that horrible Buffy musical episode. Nobody in that show could sing, let’s start there, but… There was this one song. A little bit in it, actually, that blond guy sang it. I never really forgot it because back then I was going through hell at school, and now… Well, it still applies. He says something, something and then ‘life is just this, it’s living.’ That line fucked me up then, it still does now. It’s fucking true. I learned utmost wisdom from a 90s show musical episode, but the blond vampire bitch is right! We’re doing all we can with the lawyer and the police, but in the end…” Katya shrugs. “We have to live our lives and figure it out on the way. I’ll never learn how to deal with anything in a better way if I don’t fucking deal with it.” Trixie nods along with her words. “I know I’ll miss you every day for the rest of my days, but it wouldn’t even be fair to you if I stopped living my life. Trixie wrote a song for us - you should sing it, by the way - and when she sang it to me the first time she said she hoped it had made me happy because that’s what you’d want. You always wanted that for me, and I want to make sure I’ll do that for you. I love you, Brooke. I’m happy I came here today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You did so great, baby,” Trixie tells her. “I think Brooke is really proud of you for coming here today. I am too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Katya pecks her on the lips. “And thank you for bringing me here today. I couldn’t have done it without you.” They kiss again and Katya places the little rocks she has been carrying in her pocket on Brooke’s grave, next to the ones Trixie had placed there before. “Maybe I should do it more often.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie stands up first, offering her hand to bring Katya up after she taps the snow off her pants. Katya takes it and wraps her arms around Trixie’s shoulders, almost standing on her tiptoes. “I… Thank you,” she whispers at Trixie’s mouth, looking her straight in the eye. She gets a kiss in return. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya knows that the heaviness is still there and that she has gotten stronger too, but when Trixie’s lips touch hers and she feels herself being pulled closer to her girlfriend, her stomach flutters with the realization that, while both of those things are true, having someone else help you carry the weight is part of why her heart feels lighter right now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>December 27th, 2015. Sunday, 11:37 p.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lying in the asphalt in late December in the middle of the night doesn’t sound like the smartest of ideas, but as soon as she proposed it, Trixie said yes. It isn’t snowing, but there is a thick layer of snow on Katya’s little front yard. It makes everything around them look like clouds. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe Heaven does exist</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Katya thinks while cuddled into Trixie, hearing her sing love songs softly, for her ears only. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I think I’m in Heaven now.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The stars burn brightly above them, and the moon watches over patiently. Trixie’s voice floats out of her lips right into Katya’s heart in a soft rendition of Sweet Caroline, but instead of Caroline, Trixie says Katya when the chorus comes. It makes her laugh every single time, and though she drowns Trixie in kisses she doesn’t stop singing. When the other girl quiets down, her nose is buried on her cheek and she simply presses her lips against it until Trixie turns to face her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You make me happy,” Katya tells her. “There is nothing about you that I don’t adore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re only saying that because I’ve never farted in front of you,” Trixie jokes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You fart in your sleep,” Katya says, which earns her a playful smack on the butt. “Hey, only I get to do that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Trixie smiles, dipping into a kiss. Katya kisses her back, slow and light. “But yeah, you make me happy too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe angels exist too</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Katya thinks again, watching Trixie’s face reflect under the moonlit sky. Her cheeks are just big enough to accommodate her hands like she was built to be held by Katya, who snickers at the idea. Her eyes look a little larger under the thick lenses of her big, round glasses, and her eyelashes curl with every blink. Katya could write a poem for each one of her freckles, not to mention her full lips. They look swollen now, probably from the mixture of the cold and the kissing, but nothing about them is unappealing. Even under the blanket they dragged out to the street with them, Trixie’s curves are apparent and soft, inviting Katya to see how well her hands fit around them too. Her waist was made to be hugged closer and her thighs to accommodate Katya’s little twig legs between them. Her chest seems to already have taken the shape of Katya’s head. </span>
  <span>Sometimes she feels like she should hold Trixie more often instead of letting herself be held, but there is no other moment like this, even if neither of them says a thing. There is no amount of copious fucking or abundant fortune or restless fame that could ever compare to the feeling of knowing she’s in her favorite place in the world: between the arms of the girl she loves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Remember that day you ran after me when I went to The Screen Queen to apologize?” Katya asks. Trixie knits her eyebrows together and pouts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t recall, nope,” Trixie answers. Katya holds her by the chin and brings her face closer into a kiss. “Okay, I think it’s coming back to me now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you remember what I told you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The part about  you being extremely sorry for behaving like a sore asshole or the part you said you thought you were falling in love with me?” Katya kisses her again, nibbling at her bottom lip. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The part about me thinking I was falling in love with you,” Katya breathes out with her lips still dangerously close to Trixie’s. The girl nods into the kiss and Katya pulls away, looking for her eyes. “I don’t think that anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Trixie frowns after a small gasp flies out of her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya places her hand on her cheek. She smiles at herself for having just observed how they’re the perfect fit. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> that I’m in love with you. Like, I’m so far gone in love with you I think I’ll never find my way out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She feels Trixie melt into the touch, a smile forming at her lips. “I… I never thought I’d hear that from someone other than my mom or Dela,” she laughs. Katya kisses her smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you. I’m in neck-deep love with you,” she reassures Trixie. “And even if it takes you five to ten business days to say it back to me, I’ll still love you then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie shakes her head, diving into another kiss. Their lips are probably the warmest part of their partially hypothermic bodies and Katya feels the ice around her face melt whenever Trixie breathes a little closer to her. “I love you too.” Trixie chuckles. “It feels good to say that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then say it again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I could hear that forever,” Katya confesses. They sneak their way back inside of Katya’s house as silently as they possibly can and whisper “I love yous” to each other until they fall asleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re both still in love by the time they wake up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>December 31st, 2015. Thursday, 11:56 p.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie had never been to a New Year’s Eve party before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had always been just her and her mom at home, eating something neither of them had enjoyed cooking, watching some TV until the countdown, and falling asleep right after midnight. It was never bad, in fact, she thought it was quite cozy. Sometimes, when her mother had to take night shifts, she’d do the same by herself or have dinner and sleep over at Dela’s - not that it was much different, but her friend’s family is a little edgier which means their New Year’s Eve dinner included loud music and alcohol as well, but she was too young to be able to enjoy that. Trixie never held any kind of negative opinions on the holiday, though, she simply never minded it much. It is what it is. She was ready for another year of that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Katya invited her to go celebrate at Monét’s house. From what Trixie heard, Monét’s parents usually leave right after Christmas for an annual trip down to some warm and beachy Central American country, which means that not only they have the whole house to themselves for the night, but they have it for an entire week. Trixie wonders what is like having so much money that every year you go to an entirely different part of the world to stay a week just for the hell of it. Must be nice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At first, she wasn’t a huge fan of the idea because she had never hung out with Gigi and Monét before, let alone Crystal and her friends, who she learned had also been invited. Katya only convinced her to go after she said Dela and Shangie could come too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>It’ll be great,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she said over the phone. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You get to hang out with my friends, I get to hang out with your friends, we get to meet Crystal’s friends too… We’ll have fun,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she promised. Trixie believed her. She decided to meet Katya there and invited both Dela and Shangie to come over and spend the afternoon gossiping with the excuse that they needed to get ready and help each other do their hair and makeup. It wasn’t the first time Dela and Shangie met, but they had never hung out together, and it worked just fine. Shangie taught Trixie how to draw thick wings on her eyelids and Dela teased her hair until it was high enough to reach God. She picked out a basic white shirt and a yellow overall dress to go with it, hoping the snow wouldn’t make it too hard for her to walk with her white boots. Dela stuck to her usual black look with a nice shirt and skirt, and Shangie’s dress sparkled bright enough to blind anyone who stares directly at it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The party had been going great so far. Everyone was nice to her, and she got along well with Gigi and Jackie, who was also a newbie to the core group. They spent a while talking about their other friends and discussing conspiracy theories regarding books they’d all read in their tweens. Monét put on loud music on her brand new speaker she had gotten for Christmas and they all danced to it, even making up a silly choreography to Nicki Minaj’s Anaconda led by Jan. Trixie only had a real chance to speak to Katya when the drinking games started.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Crystal has some blunts on her,” Katya whispered in her ear, sending chills down her spine. “If you want to try it you shouldn’t drink.” Trixie nodded, deciding to sit out the game of Truth or Drink and sticking to soda instead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How does it make you feel?” Trixie whispered back to her on the couch while the girls were on the floor playing and making too much noise. “The pot, I mean.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mostly silly, but chill. Hungry too, after a while.” Katya kissed the tip of her nose, making Trixie scrunch her face. “I bet you’re gonna be the type to laugh at everything you see in front of you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They sat together for a while. Trixie took her time watching Katya’s dark makeup around her eyes and the fishnets that went down her arms and legs under her dress, running her hand over her girlfriend’s thigh absentmindedly. “You look amazing tonight,” she commented. “I don’t think I’ve seen you wear this color lipstick before.” It was a nice matte nude shade. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I stole it from Monét’s mom,” Katya giggled. “And you look amazing yourself.” Her hand reached out to the overall strap on Trixie’s shoulder. On the floor, the girls chanted </span>
  <em>
    <span>chug, chug, chug.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As midnight now approaches, the girls start to get out the sparkling wine and fill up the random mismatched glasses they’ve been collecting throughout the night, spilling a lot of it on the kitchen counters and on the floor. They turn the music down when it’s time for the countdown and gather around the TV. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright bitches,” Monét shouts, “I ain’t even really knew some of y’all before tonight, but I feel like we’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>vibing</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” She raises her glass and so does everyone else around them, cheering her on. Trixie feels Katya’s hand wrap around her waist and pull her closer. The countdown comes and goes in a blur of screaming and drunk rambles, and as soon as midnight hits, Trixie shuts down the yelling around her. She only pays attention to Katya’s breathing against her body. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Happy new year,” she smiles. Katya kisses her as softly as she did the first time, letting their lips brush together first and then slipping into it. Trixie’s half-covered arms feel Katya’s dress wrinkle beneath them, lifting it a little as she tightens the grip around her girlfriend’s waist. “I love you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you,” Katya repeats, kissing her again. Trixie smiles into it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>January 1st, 2016. Friday, 01:20 a.m.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She learns soon that the best part about New Year’s parties is that midnight is the halfway point. She also learns that being high is really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> fun. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya told her about laughing at things and feeling hungry, and it’s quite obvious to see this is how everyone else around her is feeling. Shangie and Crystal are munching on some cupcakes while Jan, Monét, and Dela laugh almost hysterically at something Trixie can’t quite deduce what is yet, but she’ll get there soon. Gigi chose not to smoke, just like Jackie and Katya, and Trixie sits with them on the floor in front of the TV, doing her best to react accordingly to anything they might say but only being able to focus on one little side effect she wasn’t expecting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie is inconsolably horny.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first and second puffs on the first joint were okay. She got a little dizzy and couldn’t stop staring at Katya’s eyes, but it seemed fairly normal to her. It gave her the chance to discover small little shapes in them she hadn’t noticed before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The weed really started getting to her after that and by their third round of smoking. Trixie knows it was probably just the weed in her system, but she could feel herself getting wetter and wetter in excruciating detail, feeling it drip down on her skin and splotch her panties, knowing she might leave a wet spot where she had been sitting. When she followed the girls to the floor, Katya sat next to her and placed her hand on Trixie’s thigh. She didn’t squeeze, she didn’t rub, she only touched it and it was enough for Trixie to have to bite her lip to stop a moan from coming out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She holds on, knowing that as hard as she tries to keep it cool, her breathing is getting heavier by the second. Smelling Katya’s perfume so close to her isn’t helping either. It makes her want to stick her tongue right out and roll it up her girlfriend’s neck, tasting the sweat on her skin and taking it all in with a big breath, it makes her want to whine “please” against her ear until she gets what she wants, and it makes her want to feel the tips of Katya’s fingers dance along her folds before being pressed into her. Trixie swallows and grunts involuntarily, earning a concerned look from Katya. Unfortunately for her, the girl leans closer to her ear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you okay, зайка?” Katya’s voice is so low Trixie barely hears it, with that familiar husk that makes her squeeze her thighs together. She shakes her head. “Was it the pot?” She nods. “Alright.” Katya turns to the other girls. “Hey, I’ll take Trixie to the bathroom for a moment, I don’t think she’s doing very well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Take her upstairs,” Gigi suggests, taking a quick look at Trixie’s face. She can feel the sweat forming on her forehead and wonders if the other can see it drip down her temples. “If she makes a mess no one will hear it.”</span>
</p>
<p><span>She grunts again at the sentence as Katya helps her up by the hands and guides her to the stairs holding on to her waist. </span><em><span>If she makes a mess</span></em><span>, Trixie thinks, feeling her underwear stick to her skin as she steps towards the stairs. </span><em><span>I’ve already made a fucking mess.</span></em> <span>As they walk up, Trixie hears Katya hum little encouragements to her like “you’re alright” and “we’re almost there”. She doesn’t dare open her mouth. On any other day, she would have stopped to think about how adorable it is that her little punk-presenting girlfriend can be so sweet and caring, so gentle to her. Katya’s words always drip like honey against her ears and her touch is always soft against her skin. Well, except when it isn’t. Trixie swallows, reaching the top of the staircase. When Katya’s touch isn’t soft it is rough. Trixie likes it just the same. She notices how it leaves mostly unintentional marks on her skin, especially against her hips from being held down while Katya eats her out, and she’s learning to love seeing them there. The hallway looks like it goes on for miles, and even though the bathroom door is the second one to the right, it takes them so, so long to get there. Katya leads her in and turns around to close the door. As soon as Trixie hears the lock click, she places her hands by Katya’s head, pinning her against the door. The girl widens her eyes for a moment, but Trixie doesn’t even catch it before diving right into her mouth. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>“Katya, please,” Trixie whines against her lips. She doesn’t give her the chance to talk. “I need you to touch me, please. I need you right now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya grabs Trixie’s butt over her dress, making her gasp. “Is that why you’re not okay?” Trixie nods, kissing her again. As their tongues meet, she starts to feel Katya’s hands sliding down onto her skin and then back up her butt, teasing the hem of her underwear. “Look at you being so needy, зайка.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m serious,” she abruptly grabs Katya’s hand and guides it down to her underwear. She feels Katya’s fingers pressing against the wetness and rubbing it. Trixie moans into her jaw, and even though she doesn’t see it, she knows Katya smiled at the sound. Around them, the walls muffle the music down just enough for them to hear each other, but she’s willing to bet nobody can hear them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How long have you been like this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So long,” Trixie groans, spotting Katya’s neck with kisses. “I can’t take it anymore, Katya, please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want to go to a bedroom?” Katya asks, hand still tucked between her thighs. Trixie only manages a disgruntled moan, feeling Katya’s thumb brushing her clit through her panties. “You want me to fuck you right here?” She nods. Katya backs her against the sink counter, holding both of her arms down and licking a firm strip up her neck. “Use your fucking words.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need you to fuck me right here,” Trixie begs. “Please, Katya, please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wasn’t too hard, was it?” Katya breathes on her skin and abruptly turns Trixie over, making her face the mirror. “Knee up,” she orders. Trixie obeys, lifting her leg and letting it fall on the counter so hard she knows it’ll bruise. She feels her panties being tucked to the side and a hot breath against her pussy. “You’re so wet, Trixie. I hadn’t seen you like this before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Katya, please,” Trixie whines. She’s not sure if the impatience is showing in her voice, so she decides to push it. “If I can use my words I know you can use your hands.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya chuckles. “You’re right.” A sharp sting slaps down on her skin. The feeling is so unexpected that Trixie has no control over the obscenely loud moan that escapes her mouth. Katya’s palm strikes her ass again, earning yet another whimper. “Is this what you wanted, зайка?” Katya’s nails dig into her ass, scratching it over the spot she just spanked. She then dips two fingers into Trixie’s folds and drags them around her cheek, spreading the wetness before smacking her one more time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Trixie moans. Another slap. She’s so wet that it starts dripping down her thighs. “Katya…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her girlfriend reaches down again and without warning licks her cunt from behind, supporting herself by holding tightly onto Trixie’s thighs. Katya’s tongue is cold from the ice in her drink, and the feeling of it against her throbbing hot pussy sends goosebumps down Trixie’s legs as it steals a gasp from her. “You’re so fucking wet,” Katya whispers against her, leaving sloppy kisses on her folds and around her entrance. “you can’t even finish a sentence.” She is spread open on the counter, using her hands to support herself as Katya dives into her clit, humming against her and sending vibrations all the way up Trixie’s spine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her moans make her lose herself. She knows she’s being loud, but there is nothing she can do to stop it. The music outside still reaches them, and she hears loud conversation, laughter, and occasional banging of things, probably against counters or even falling to the floor. If she didn’t know, she’d guess there are about fifty people downstairs. Like a breeze, Katya is back up and teasing Trixie’s neck while her hands find their way down to her pussy, one of them teasing by the sides of her clit and the other haunting her hole. “Everyone is going to know what I’m doing to you if you keep that up,” Katya says, rubbing closer to her clit. “Is that what you want?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t care,” Trixie mutters. The pain of another sharp slap rings through her ass, then she feels Katya grab it and squeeze hard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you gonna tell them?” The girl whispers closer to her ear. “That you couldn’t help yourself? That you’re such a needy slut that you needed me to fuck you right here, right now?” Trixie’s ass gets yet another smack, making her whimper and squirm, nearly losing her balance. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you? Look at yourself…” She takes it half as an observation and half as a command, immediately looking up. Reflected in the mirror, she watches her own face, ruined by sweat, twist when Katya spanks her one last time, and then her girlfriend approaches her, grabbing her by the chin and squeezing her mouth. Trixie catches a glimpse of her own eyes rolling when Katya tightens the grip on her face. “Such a little whore. So desperate, spread open for me. Can’t wait to get fucked good.” She tries to nod, but Katya’s hand stops her from moving her head. The only reaction she is able to show is a small cry. Without warning, Katya lets go of her face and fucks two fingers into Trixie, who can see her own mouth drop instantly. She watches Katya behind her while she works both her clit and her fingers, curving them and pumping them in and out impossibly hard. The girl licks and bites her own lips in concentration, but it’s the look in her eyes that makes Trixie clench around her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She feels Katya stuff her, the length of her slim fingers curving inside of her and pressuring the very right spot, undoing herself in moans, whimpers and gasps. “You feel so good inside me,” Trixie manages out between breaths. “You fuck me so good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re mine,” Katya growls. “I’m the only one who can make you feel this good.” Trixie mewls, looking down. Instantly she misses Katya’s touch on her clit, only to feel the girl tug and pull at her hair instead, forcing her head back up. She hums in disapproval and Trixie’s breath catches on her throat. “You wanted me to fuck you so bad, now you’re gonna watch me do it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie moans louder, letting herself be filled by Katya, the girl’s fingers twisting and wiggling inside of her. “Yes,” she agrees. “Anything for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya slides her fingers out and slaps Trixie’s cunt, which produces a filthy wet sound. She inhales sharply. “Whose pussy is this?” Trixie feels the pads of Katya’s fingertips against her clit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yours,” she whimpers. She feels Katya’s lips on her neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good girl.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Katya, I…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want to come?” Trixie nods, lip stuck so hard under her teeth blood might start pouring out. “Of course you do, you filthy fucking slut. You can barely keep your fucking leg up straight.” Katya grabs her by the waist and pulls her from the counter, turning her around. “I want you to look at me when I make you come,” she explains, helping Trixie sit back on it, this time facing her. Katya wastes no time finding her hole and fucking her way in with her fingers again, roughly spreading her folds open as she does it. Her thumb grazes harshly over her clit. There is no sweetness in her eyes, but they’re still warm, and she stares directly into Trixie’s. With her other hand, Katya traces Trixie’s wide open mouth with her fingers. Trixie feels them stick against her lipgloss, as if it wasn’t already ruined, before Katya closes her hand around her chin, squeezing her cheeks like she did before. “I like how pretty you look when you’re desperate to come.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie whines as her climax bubbles its way up, and once it fully reaches her, she comes with the loudest gasp she has ever heard herself make, whimpering Katya’s name among other obscene babbles non-stop. With her hand still firm around her face, Katya pulls her into a wet kiss. Trixie pants her way out of her orgasm, Katya’s hand still touching her cunt. “You came so pretty for me, Trixie,” she whispers into her mouth, drawing the kisses down to her neck and sucking a hickey above her collarbones, wetting Trixie’s shirt with her tongue. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Holy shit,” Trixie says, jumping off the counter into Katya’s arms. “I… I’m dizzy.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you get fucked so hard it messed with your head?” Katya smirks. “I thought you could take it. Do I have to do it again until you </span>
  <em>
    <span>learn</span>
  </em>
  <span> how to take some good fucking?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please,” she begs, letting Katya’s fingers twist into her hair and pull close to her skull. “I promise I’ll be good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not done, are you?” Trixie shakes her head. “It’s pathetic how badly you need me to fuck you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come back to my house,” Trixie suggests, hanging onto Katya’s lips. “My mom has a night shift and she won’t be back until the morning. You can do whatever you want to me, please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatever I want?” Katya tightens the grip on her hair, making Trixie moan. “How sweet. Here’s what we’ll do: we’re gonna get you cleaned up, and we’re gonna go back downstairs. You’re gonna be good and pretend nothing happened, tell the girls you aren’t feeling well, and we’ll go, you got that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” Katya presses her lips against hers once more. They run back to Trixie’s house in the snow, struggling to keep their hands from each other. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>January 1st, 2016. Friday, 08:34</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For most of her life, Trixie has always felt like there was something missing. She’d wake up every morning knowing she’d have breakfast by herself, picking at the fat on her tummy and thighs as if they didn’t belong there, not having a dad to crack bad jokes at dinner, and not having any money left to buy herself the cute t-shirt she had seen somewhere downtown. The void in her chest seemed only to grow as her anxiety problems worsened, understanding that she was also lacking a brain that functioned properly. Sometimes she’d stare at herself in the mirror until she had checked that every bit of her was still there, but she was aware that the emptiness was not cut out on her skin. She wondered how could someone have such wide hips and still be only half a person, barely there at all. She stared at her own face until she didn’t exist anymore because she knew that the missing parts inside of her would never be full of anything but fear. Soon she’d be missing entirely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thought of that hangs over her head as she wakes up. Any time Trixie drinks her body punishes by waking up earlier than she has to and filling her head with paranoia. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She grunts awake, snuggling closer to Katya. They figured that the way to sleep together in a twin-sized bed is to simply cuddle as closely as possible, legs all tangled and arms numb from being under each other. Unfortunately, Katya’s hair is seasoned with the stench of cheap alcohol and weed. It’s enough to almost make Trixie gag, which makes her instantly pull away from her girlfriend, as much as she can without falling off the bed. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> wants to come close to that shit again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her mouth is so dry she can feel the sand cascading down her throat, but sees no water bottle around them in the bedroom. Trying not to wake Katya, Trixie attempts to turn to the side to get up off the bed, but then a string of pain shoots up her spine, legs, and butt. “Ouch,” she murmurs. The ache triggers a whole set of memories from last night, sending a wave of heat up her chest. She tries touching her own ass only to find that: one, she is completely naked, and two, there are bruises and scratches all over it, making her hiss at the sudden contact. The aftermath is not what she signed up for and her memory is still a bit fuzzy, so she can only hope it was worth it. In one brave big girl moment, she gets up, doing her best to stretch before tiptoeing over to her dresser and picking out her favorite sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. She spots hers and Katya’s last night’s outfits crumpled on the floor and makes a mental note to wash them before her mom wakes up today. But first, water. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Avoiding that one step that creaks every time someone steps on it, Trixie quietly makes her way downstairs wearing socks with little smiling sharks on them. Humming, she walks into the kitchen only to find her mother on the table with a mug in hand while humping through her phone. Her sleepy brain almost laughs at the possibility that Nina might be sharing minion memes on Facebook.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, hi there party girl!” Nina laughs. Trixie waves at her with a half-hearted smile imprinted on her face as she makes her way to the cupboard. “Looks like you had fun last night.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did,” Trixie responds with her voice still weighed down by sleep. She is only half alert, which means she isn’t aware of the hickeys on her neck. “Thought you’d be asleep now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The girls and I went to grab some post-shift breakfast, I got home around half an hour ago.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How was work?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We had a quiet night, thank God, but I can’t wait to go to bed!” Nina sips her drink, which Trixie assumes is tea. “I went upstairs to check on you and you seemed so comfy snuggled up to Katya, I didn’t want to wake you guys up. I didn’t know she’d be sleeping over.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie opens the faucet, filling her glass before answering her mother. “It was a bit of a last-minute thing. A-are you mad?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, no Trix, not at all! I was just surprised, that’s all. You had never talked about her before, but you two seem so close.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie shrugs, feeling her heart accelerate. Her mother knows. She knows everything and she’s throwing Trixie a bait for her to confess. “We only got close recently, to be honest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She seems like a sweet girl,” Nina smiles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you like her?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know that much about her, but yeah, sure. You’re not one to have many people hanging around you, so you must really like her.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>I love her</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Trixie thinks. “I trust your judgment.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nina sips her drink again and now she can already feel her heart pounding in her throat. Maybe she should take the bait. If her mother brought it up it means she’s ready to talk, right? She forgets the dryness of her mouth, concentrating on trying to find eloquent thoughts inside of her brain. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tell her. She’ll hate you. Tell her. She needs to know. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Trixie gulps, setting her still full glass on the sink before her hands start shaking too much. With wobbly steps, Trixie grabs a chair and pulls it, sitting next to her mother. When her butt comes in contact with the seat, she regrets it, both from the sting and from knowing that she’s definitely not ready to do this, but she’ll do it anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I, uh… I kinda have to tell you something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” Nina frowns. “Is everything okay? Did something happen last night?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, it’s not that,” Trixie shakes her head. Her breathing starts running short, but her lungs force her to speak anyway. “I don’t know how to say this,” she chuckles in desperation, briefly furrowing her brow. Nina reaches out to touch her shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know you can tell me </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>, right? Anything at all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know I can, but I’m afraid of your reaction,” Trixie confesses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, now I’m curious above everything else, Trix. Did you do anything bad?” Her mother tightens the grip around her shoulder. “We can sort it out, I won’t be mad. Unless you’ve stolen a car or something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie forces herself to breathe, her ribs tightening around her heart and lungs. Her brain is fuzzy and her mouth is not under her control anymore. “It’s nothing bad. Not for me, at least.” Nina nods. “K-Katya is not </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> a friend. She’s… She’s my girlfriend. My lesbian girlfriend. Because I’m that, you know. I’m… a lesbian.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Honey, that’s great!” Nina reaches into a hug, but Trixie stands petrified on her seat. “You have your first girlfriend! My baby is all grown up!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tightness dissolves. “You’re okay with it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nina pulls back from the hug, Trixie finds her eyes in an instant. They’re sweet, even though there are dark circles dragging them down. “Baby, of course I’m okay with it, why wouldn’t I be?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie’s lip trembles and her eyes fill up. She sniffles and when her mother smiles she lets the tears roll down, sobbing. “I was so scared to tell you,” she confesses. “I knew… I knew you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, but I thought I couldn’t do it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I bet it’s a scary feeling,” Nina takes her hand, “but you’re always safe with me. I love you no matter what. And I’m proud of you for facing your fears and being honest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you, mom,” Trixie weeps. Her mother uses her fingers to wipe her tears away, skin warm against her face. “Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, sweetie, you don’t have to thank me. All I want is for you to be happy,” Nina pulls her closer, kissing the top of her head. “Don’t cry, Trixie, it’s okay. You’re a great student, you never get in trouble, you’re hardworking, you have amazing friends by your side, you’re getting better every day… There’s nothing about you that could ever upset me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What if I had none of that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d love you just the same. You’re my daughter above everything else, you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.” Nina caresses her back. “I know I’m not always there for you, that I work too much, but you can always count on me, Trix. No more crying now, or you’ll wake Katya up, yeah?” Trixie nods, fixing her posture and wiping her tears away with her sleeve. “Now tell me more about her, now that I know you two are a thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Trixie sneaks back upstairs and wiggles her way next to Katya on the bed, she lays her chin on her girlfriend’s shoulder. “You awake?” She whispers. Katya hums. “I just came out to my mom.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya shifts on the bed, turning to her with sleepy eyes. “You did?” Trixie nods. “How’d it go, зайка?” She lets her arm fall over Katya’s waist and pulls herself closer, intertwining their legs together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She was extremely understanding and supportive,” Trixie responds. Katya groans and frowns.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Big words, зайка. Go slow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie giggles and pecks her lips. “She’s happy for me. For us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya smiles, drawing her hand up to trace Trixie’s full, dry lips. “I’m so glad, зайка. I know how afraid you were of this, but you got to do it in your own time and it turned out fine.” Trixie kisses the tip of Katya’s finger. “I love you, Trixie.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you,” Trixie whispers back. The empty spots inside of her are warm and bloom with flowers. Her mind goes back to the first thought her hungover mind brought her when she woke up and she nearly giggles at it. Her body is warm under the covers, Katya’s expression is soft, and her heart is light. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing is missing. </span>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Chapter 29</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Falling for “Jodie” was the easiest thing I’ve ever done. Dealing with the fall was a different story, but the falling itself was delightful and beautiful and I could do it again a million times. Honestly, I think I do it every day when I look at her. Oh, yeah, she’s also my girlfriend now.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Screw it, it's Carnaval! I decided to post the chapter a little earlier than what I had planned! Hope you guys enjoy it!! Thanks to my loves <a href="http://zamo-95.tumblr.com/">Zamo95</a> and <a href="http://fedu31.tumblr.com/">Fedu</a> for being by my side and supporting me through this fic &lt;3 And thanks to all you sapphics and non-sapphics who've stuck with this story so far! We're almost there! If you need me, I am on <a href="galaxybrunost505.tumblr.com">Tumblr</a>!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Date: January 4th, 2016. Monday, 03:45 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From: </span>
  <a href="mailto:iqkitty@gmail.com">
    <span>iqkitty@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To: </span>
  <a href="mailto:jinkxmonsoon25@gmail.com">
    <span>jinkxmonsoon25@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subject: The pen pal project</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hi, Mrs. Monsoon! It’s been a while since I’ve last heard from you, but I hope you’re doing okay. I know you had asked me to send you an e-mail by the end of the semester to talk a bit about my experience with the pen pal project, but things got busy. I hope you don’t mind I’m a little late. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To sum it up, I can only say it was insane. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It worked. A few months into it I still had quite a few rough panic attacks, including the kind that makes me pass out, but it has since calmed down. I don’t wake up every day wishing I were someone else, wishing my brain wasn’t against me - now I know it isn’t, and it’s trying its hardest to do the best for me. Like, I can’t come here and tell you that this project (plus my doctor and medication, of course) simply cured me of all my troubles because that isn’t the truth, I don’t think I’m “cured”. To be honest, I don’t think I’ll ever be cured, there is no way I’ll be 100% over this someday. Maybe my anxiety will always be a part of me, but I have learned through observing people deal with grief (long story) that even if something doesn’t necessarily get better, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> can always get better at learning how to deal with it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I still have bad days. Sometimes I wake up and I just know instantly that it won’t be easy. My first instinct is to crawl inside of myself and stay there until it’s over, but I try not to give in to it by telling my mom or whoever is going to spend the day with me that I’m having a tough time. Sympathy doesn’t always help, but it’s comforting to know that wherever I go people are already aware of what I need. I cry a lot on these days. I get in my own head about school, about my future, and I feel so small before so many huge things… What I do is try to remind myself that I’m actually not that small. I can’t predict what is going to happen, but I can evaluate my options as they come to me. I swear some days just watching a couple of funny videos on Youtube already does it for me, but not always. Also, I haven’t skipped work or school due to my anxiety in a while now. I want to, but I don’t. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, I’m not cured, but I am better. I feel better. Not just as in “not sick anymore”, but as in “I might have grown into a respectable person who knows themselves enough to be worthy of some dignity”. I’m happier about the life I live, even though it’s not ideal, I’m happy about the people I have around me, I’m happy about myself. And if anything, at least this project gave me one hell of a story to tell. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My pen pal and I called each other Dolly and Jodie to avoid using our real names, and I guess that the first reason why I fell into it so deeply. Back in August, I was terrified of being seen, of being acknowledged, but turns out that having “Jodie” see and acknowledge me was exactly what I needed. Whatever I had to say to her flowed so easily out of me and into my fingers as I typed each email that for a while it scared me to know I held so many things inside of myself. It didn’t take long for me to come out to her (surprise, I’m a lesbian!) and she came right out to me too. You know where this is going. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Falling for “Jodie” was the easiest thing I’ve ever done. Dealing with the fall was a different story, but the falling itself was delightful and beautiful and I could do it again a million times. Honestly, I think I do it every day when I look at her. Oh, yeah, she’s also my girlfriend now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We actually already knew each other in real life, which was a real plot twist for me. Her name is Katya and she’s a regular at The Screen Queen, the movie theater where I work. When I found out, I pushed her away immediately. She came after me to explain everything, and there was so much more going on with her - way harsher things. If falling for her was easy, forgiving her was the same. Not because she was going through a lot, but because I could see it in my heart it was the right thing to do. She deserves everything in the world, including my forgiveness, which is the best thing I could give her at the time. I’m sure your original plan wasn’t to get me a girlfriend, but your matchmaking skills worked wonders, intentional or not. Having been able to take a stroll around Katya’s mind really put things in perspective for me. I know that what actually did something to make my brain suck less was my doctor and my medicine, but she helped </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> much. Whenever I talk to her, in person or not, the static in my brain turns into music. I never thought I’d meet someone who just does that to me, yet here we are. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If you’re thinking about trying this kind of project again, I’d say go for it. It won’t always turn into a beautiful tale of homoerotic relationships, but as far as friendships go it could really work. Having “Jodie” helped me take the first step towards dealing with feelings I didn’t want to deal with, and it made me realize I could count on the people around me. Being loved by her somewhat made me feel love all around. I needed someone to remind me that life goes beyond the shitty feelings that I have, and she did exactly that. I’m sure this kind of project could create sincere and long-lasting friendships because above everything this is what we have. Katya and I are best friends who just happen to kiss each other a lot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m about to say something silly, but I think we’ll be together forever. I know we’re teenagers and life doesn’t end when high school does, I know that, it’s just… It’s not a hunch, it’s not a feeling at the pit of my stomach, nothing of the sort. I don’t want to let her go, simple as that. I can imagine my life without her, I’ve done that for sixteen years before we met, but I want her there. I want her arms around me, I want her lips on mine, and I want her cold feet on my shins when we sleep. I want her. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>her, and not as in “she is mine and I possess her”, but as in every day she wakes up and chooses to be a part of my life the same way I choose to be a part of hers. We have each other is what I’m trying to say. It’s nice, it’s comfortable, and it’s the best thing that has ever happened to me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I should invite you to the wedding if we ever get married. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thanks for making me a part of this, Mrs. Monsoon. Can I call you Jinkx now that you aren’t my real counselor anymore? If you want to hear more about this semester without me shoving my relationship down your throat, let me know and I’ll send another email. I’ve attached a report from Nurse Asia and one from my doctor as well, so you can check those out as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hope you’re doing alright.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Love, </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Beatrice. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Chapter 30</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Trixie knows she fucked up. <br/>Every single time she texts Katya it is a reminder of what she had, and what she let go. They say it’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all, but whoever “they” are, Trixie thinks they can go fuck themselves. She tasted heaven and now the only thing left is the wool of the clouds caught in her teeth.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi everyone! Can you believe we made it to the very last chapter? I'm going to miss this little universe of dumb teenage lesbians so much! This story would never have been possible without the support of <a href="http://zamo-95.tumblr.com/">Zamo95</a>, <a href="http://fedu31.tumblr.com/">Fedu</a>, and <a href="https://katyasthwooorp.tumblr.com/">Katyasthwooorp</a>, who are some of the best friends an emotionally unstable bitch could ever ask for!! And everything about this fic was made even more special by you guys, who read and commented and made this a lovely place to be in. Hopefully, I'll be back soon, but meanwhile, you can find me on <a href="http://galaxybrunost505.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>. I hope you have enjoyed reading this story as much as I have enjoyed writing it! Thank you all for everything!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>2017</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They break up right before Katya goes off to college.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her first week of getting her shit together in her dorm along with her roommate, Adore, fixing documents and important papers she has to try hard not to lose, and buying overpriced Law books is enough to distract her from the constant heartache that rings through her ribs. The first week of classes leaves her sleepless enough to forget about it for a whole minute. Still, UWM is a welcoming home to her. Katya is good at becoming a nice acquaintance to other girls that share lectures with her and keeps herself busy by spending whole days at the library sitting across strangers while she reads. At night, she strolls back to her dorm and smokes a joint or two with Adore before falling asleep with her makeup on. Exhaustion helps her forget how cracked her heart is. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was Trixie’s idea. Katya thought it was bullshit from the start. They had endless conversations about it that mostly ended up either escalating into ugly arguments or with Katya trying to fuck some sense into Trixie, slipping three fingers in at a time and whispering “don’t you love me, </span>
  <span>зайка?” until Trixie undid herself yelling that yes, she loved her, and only her, and forever. It didn’t work, but it was worth all of the tries. Katya reached out to her parents and to Nina, and as much as they all wanted things to be sorted out between the girls, they decided not to intervene. “I don’t want to keep you from the full college experience,” Trixie told her a few times. What her girlfriend had failed to realize is that Katya wasn’t that stupid. She knew what Trixie was afraid of. Long-distance relationships don’t tend to work out, and the stress from Law School piling up on Katya’s shoulders wouldn’t be of any help. Katya understood that Trixie thought they couldn’t afford to risk the best thing they’ve ever had like that. It was better to break up in a civil manner and agree to stay friends. Katya rolled her eyes at that way too many times, but eventually gave in. She knew love doesn’t just go away like that… But she was about to. It wouldn’t be fair to make Trixie feel left behind and still keep her in a little jar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They text every day. Trixie doesn’t call her pet names or send a million heart emojis anymore, but Katya doesn’t mind it, as long as they keep in touch. On her second Friday of classes, in the middle of her 8 a.m. lecture, she gets a text she knew would come sooner or later.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Trixie &lt;3</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i’m spending the weekend in madison w shangie </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>we’re going to a party w some of her friends</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>and i have a date for the party</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>her name is pearl</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Kitty Kat &lt;3</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>I hope you have fun. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She turns off her phone, shoves it into her backpack, and downs her coffee in one angry gulp. She doesn’t answer properly when Violet, one of her acquaintances, asks if she’s okay. At the end of the lecture, she runs back to her dorm where she knows Adore is going to be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re going out tonight,” Katya announces, throwing her bag on her desk. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If Trixie wants a break,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thinks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>a break is what she’ll get.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Adore immediately giggles, looking up from her phone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“About fucking time,” she says, chewing her gum loudly. By seven, Katya is already dressed to the nines. She puts on a red dress, pairs it with a leather jacket and borrows Adore’s knee-high boots. Her red-lip-black-eye combo goes well with her curled hair, which her roommate meticulously helps her with for half-an-hour before they agree it’s time to leave. Of course when they get to the frat house, their pregaming has already kicked in. The place reminds her of Chad’s house, which makes her gag. She reminds herself this isn’t about Chad anymore, she doesn’t even know what kind of decaying jail he got his ass kicked into and the feeling goes away as soon as she steps inside and licks a shot off some girl’s boobs. They play nothing but EDM all night long, and when Katya grunts loudly about how Tiësto should just fucking retire, a bald-headed beauty shares a chuckle with her. They share a bottle of vodka and Katya learns that her name is Sasha, she is an Art major, and her family is also Russian. They speak Russian for most of the night, enjoying the confused looks they get from the poor souls who happen to walk past them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they go outside to share a cigarette, Katya doesn’t resist Sasha’s advances, letting herself be kissed until she’s pressed against a wall next to a guy who’s passed out on the ground. Sasha’s lips feel foreign and sticky from all the alcohol. Her tongue doesn’t taste like honey against Katya’s and all of the butterflies in her stomach are dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Should we go back to my dorm?” Sasha invites against her neck. Before Katya can nod, she feels her throat tighten. She opens her mouth to speak, but only a sob comes out. “Are you okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya shakes her head but doesn’t use any words. Frantically, she pulls her phone out of her bra and opens her Messages app. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Kitty Kat &lt;3</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i fukd up</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>im so sorryttt</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i lvoe you</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>pls trizie im so sorry i love yuo</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Trixie &lt;3</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>are u drunk?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>is anyone with u?</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Kitty Kat &lt;3</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>sasha </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>i kissf her;;;;;;;;</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>From: Trixie &lt;3</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>baby it’s fine</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>we broke up, u can kiss whoever u want</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Katya’s phone is suddenly yanked from her hands. “Who are you texting?” Sasha asks with a concerned look. “Is it your friend? Is anyone coming to get you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s Tr-Trixie,” Katya weeps. “I love her so much, I love her with everything I have. I miss her. Why did I kiss you? Fuck!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait - you have a girlfriend?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya shakes her head and sobs violently. “She broke up with me!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you’re texting your ex? Maybe this isn’t a good idea?” Sasha rubs her hands on Katya’s shoulders. “Come, do you want me to help you find your friend?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want Tritzie,” Katya cries like a child, stealing her phone back from Sasha in a stealthy motion. She dials Trixie’s number from memory. The girl picks up after two rings.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Kat? Are you okay?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I kissed Sasha,” she drunkenly confesses, not even noticing that the background of the call on Trixie’s side is silent. Sasha smacks her palm against her forehead. “I’m so, so sorry Trix. Please. I love you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s fine, Katya. We’re not together anymore. I kissed someone else today too</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Trixie’s voice is reassuring and calm, but it only makes Katya cry harder. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Please stop crying.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But I love you!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I… I know.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Someone walks past them and offers to help Katya, but Sasha says she’s got it under control a little too loudly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Are you with Sasha now?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Katya nods against the phone, but doesn’t answer. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“If she’s with you, can you pass her the phone?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya extends her arm to Sasha, using her other hand to dry her tears. There is black makeup smudged all over her cheeks. “Hi?” Sasha offers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hey, is this Sasha? I’m Trixie.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t know Katya…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s okay,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Trixie laughs softly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Really. Um, do you think you can help Katya find her way back to her dorm? I know how she gets when she’s had a few too many.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure, I…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya takes the phone from Sasha again. “Don’t hang up. Please stay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“If I stay on the line until Sasha gets you back to your dorm, do you promise me you’ll stop crying?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” Katya looks up at Sasha, who gives her a thumbs up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Alright. Put me on speaker so I can hear her too, yeah? Let’s go on an adventure,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Trixie sighs. Sasha links her arm with Katya’s and drags her all the way across the campus. They spend the entire twenty-minute walk with Trixie on the phone, and she tells Sasha the complete story of their relationship, the director’s cut version. The girl occasionally laughs at Trixie’s sassy remarks, then wipes away Katya’s tears. When they get to the building, they go straight to the bathroom where Sasha holds Katya’s now flat hair back while she throws up. Trixie insists she wants to stay on the phone through all of that. Katya feels herself being dragged back to her room and Sasha helps her get the boots and jacket off, but the dress stays on. She tucks Katya under the comforter and leaves a glass of water and a couple of pills next to her bed, just as Trixie instructs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want me to stay until she sleeps?” Sasha asks, placing the phone down next to Katya’s pillow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, I can stay with her. Well, kinda.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Both of them laugh, but Katya grunts and pulls the covers over her head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Thank you, Sasha. You’re a sweet girl. Is it too much to ask you to check on her tomorrow?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, of course not. I live one floor up from Katya, it’s no trouble at all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Thanks.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess I’ll leave you to it, then. Good night, girls. See you tomorrow, Katya.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sasha leaves and shuts the door behind her. Trixie sighs on the phone. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“How you feeling, Kitty Kat?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Need to sleep,” she groans. “Bed is spinning.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Welcome to your first night of partying hard, sweetcheeks. You have a few more years of this ahead of you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you,” Katya says, unprompted. “I didn’t mean to kiss Sasha tonight. It felt nothing like you at all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’ll get used to it eventually.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t want to. I want to kiss </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” She moans into her pillow. “It’s so quiet there. Weren’t you at a party?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, yeah. I got tired pretty quickly.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“In someone’s bedroom, looking through their bookshelf. I don’t think you’d like it. Too much Dan Brown, not enough Virginia Woolf.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Isn’t it kinda sad that you’re alone at a party?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You just cried because someone kissed you, then you made them hold your hair while you vomited.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh. Whatever.” Katya stares at her ceiling while it spins. “Can you stay until I fall asleep?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya is surprised to hear Trixie agree, having expected that she’d put up a fight. She tries to test her luck. “Can you sing me to sleep?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Beside her head, Trixie whispers Landslide like a lullaby. When she closes her eyes, it feels like the girl is right there next to her. She falls asleep before she hears the soft “I love you” from the other side of the line as Trixie hangs up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*** </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie knows she fucked up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every single time she texts Katya it is a reminder of what she had, and what she let go. They say it’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all, but whoever “they” are, Trixie thinks they can go fuck themselves. She tasted heaven and now the only thing left is the wool of the clouds caught in her teeth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya talks about that Sasha girl a lot. Every time Trixie reads that name on her screen she rolls her eyes. This is the exact reason she wanted to break up in the first place, but now it’s starting to feel like a bad joke. She reads about Katya’s and Sasha’s adventures at the library, at parties with Art weirdos, in her dorm when Adore isn’t there and they stay up late “</span>
  <em>
    <span>studying</span>
  </em>
  <span>”. That last one is always a slap in the face. It takes Trixie right back to their high school days, when they’d sit together all afternoon in Katya’s dining room and Trixie would guide her through a mountain of Physics and Math homework before allowing her a kiss. Irina usually brought them biscuits or muffins for them to fill up on, especially if Trixie was helping Katya before a test, and it was productive, and lovely, and it always ended with someone’s hand far too high on someone else’s thigh and a quick trip upstairs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course they’re not the same kids they were when they met. Trixie stopped dyeing her hair pink last year and Katya doesn’t wear that awful eye makeup every day anymore. Trixie found a better job waiting tables at a small family restaurant and Katya got into Law School. They grew together while they could, but maybe now Katya needs to grow on her own. Maybe she could even need to grow next to someone else. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should tell her how you feel,” Dela mentions one day on FaceTime. She is in her dorm at the University of Minnesota, where she currently studies Psychology. “I’m sure she’d be willing to get back together with you in the blink of an eye.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And hand it to her just like that, so she knows she was right all along? I think the fuck not,” Trixie responds. Dela laughs on the other side of the screen. “I’m a woman, not a rat!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie never brings up that one date she went on, which happened to be on the same night that Sasha walked right into their lives. Well, into Katya’s life. It was a humiliating defeat even before she got the first few drunk texts, but she will not admit that she was insisting on the wrong thing, not like this. She has a plan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Katya completes her first trimester at UWM, Trixie is invited to spend a weekend with her, as friends, of course. She hears they’ll be alone at Katya’s dorm since Adore will spend the weekend at her partner’s place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bingo</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She arrives in Milwaukee on a sunny Saturday, and Katya is already waiting for her at the bus station. It takes Trixie everything she has not to dive into Katya’s lips when they hug each other. Katya doesn’t seem to mind, but when their hands brush as the other blonde offers to carry her heavy backpack, Trixie watches her stretch her fingers out then close her hand into a fist, Mr. Darcy style. Her smirk is masked by a soft giggle as Katya rambles about all the plans she’s made for them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their first stop, even before dropping Trixie’s stuff at the dorm, is a picnic lunch with Katya’s friends on the grass field that’s right in front of the library. When they arrive, all of the girls leave their spots to hug Trixie hello, including… Sasha. Trixie gulps. Of course she’s seen pictures of her before, with her elaborate winged eyeliner and enormous earrings, but the real thing is much, much more intimidating and, unfortunately for Trixie, incredibly friendly. She can’t help but immediately fall for Sasha’s schtick. Her accent is bewildering, her jokes are too high-concept for Trixie to get at first, and of course she’s fucking vegan. She asks Trixie about life back in Leegreat Haven and listens with genuine interest when she tells everyone about that one time two customers had the loudest breakup and she had to ask them to leave. What a bitch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Both Trixie and Katya sit with their backs against a tree as they bite into bagels and berries, listening to Adore gush about a punk concert she’s been to with her partner yesterday and to  Violet rolling her eyes at how she falls in love with a different band every Friday night. At some point, Katya lights a cigarette and Trixie asks to take a few drags, but refuses it when Katya offers her one straight from the pack. All of the girls stop to hear Trixie’s stories about Katya when she was back in high school and all of the shit they used to pull. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t believe this is the same Katya that pulls all-nighters with me for tests now!” Sasha exclaims. </span>
  <em>
    <span>All-nighters</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Trixie smiles at her. “Last month she made me drink coffee that had been made with RedBull instead of water so I could keep up with her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You guys spend so much time together,” Trixie comments, “I can’t believe you haven’t gone insane yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t believe </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> haven’t gone insane yet!” Katya barges in. “If you saw the kinds of underground places she drags me to or the amount of documentaries about Russian Art History I’ve been forced to watch…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up, Yekaterina, you love every second of it!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Usually because I’m already high out of my mind by the time you start, so of course I love it! With the kind of shit you put me through, I can’t even believe we met at a frat party.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To be fair I was just as lost as you were,” Sasha responds. “Plus, now I know where to go to pick up girls.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Girls who don’t cry when you kiss them, I suppose,” Trixie deadpans. Sasha cackles along with Adore and Violet. She doesn’t look at Katya, but feels the girl’s pinky finger against the hem of her pretty little pink dress she knows is just short enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That was wild,” she says between chuckles. “The first thing I thought was that the kiss must have been terrible! When I learned it was because of you I was so relieved - thank god </span>
  <em>
    <span>she’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> crazy and I’m still a good kisser!” The girls laugh again. “I went to check on her the next day and she had the nerve to pretend she didn’t know me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie cackles louder than the other girls, getting a few looks from people standing around them. Katya blushes and recoils, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “In my defense, I was too hungover to remember you existed for a good couple of hours after I woke up,” she tries, shooting Trixie a dirty look. She pretends not to see it despite her cheeks growing red. “But at least I had someone nice enough to stay on the phone with me until I fell asleep.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s sweet!” Adore chimes in. “I think it’s so fun you guys are exes and still get along so well! I could never pull that off.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet nods along. “So, Trixie, have you been kissing other people as well?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah,” Trixie says ever so casually. Katya lets her arms fall from her chest and two of her fingers hook onto the hem of Trixie’s dress. “Probably not as much as I’d like to because LH is so small… Well, I ended up with </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> the first time around, so you guys can guess my options aren’t too great,” she cocks her head in Katya’s direction and the girls laugh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you mind that at all?” Violet knits her eyebrows together at Katya. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The jokes or the kissing?” Katya asks. “Just kidding. I guess I don’t have much of a choice, do I? We’re over. She’s free to kiss whoever she wants.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No hard feelings?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya shakes her head, then finds Trixie’s eyes. “No hard feelings.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stay out until the sun threatens to set and the cold wind leaves goosebumps on their arms. Saying their goodbyes is quick and easy, they talk about having lunch again on Sunday, which Trixie promptly agrees to. The walk back to Katya’s dorm is slow-paced and she offers to carry Trixie’s bag again, so she only has the weight of her purse on her shoulder. The sky is red by the time they reach the building.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sasha’s cute,” Trixie comments after a brief moment of silence. Katya doesn’t look at her, focusing on opening the door and guiding Trixie to the staircase.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about it?” She asks when they start to climb the first steps. “We’re friends. It doesn’t even feel like she’s the same girl who tried to kiss me that night.” Katya responds, starting to get a little out of breath as they climb higher.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> kiss you, though. She didn’t just try.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya stops in her tracks at the top of the stairs, Trixie following close behind. “Are you jealous, </span>
  <span>зайка?” Trixie crosses her arms over her chest. “The green under your foundation is starting to show,” Katya groans, moving along until she reaches room B215. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not jealous,” Trixie responds. It’s starting to get fun. “I just wish you were honest with me about what’s going on with her. You don’t have to pretend to be her friend, you know…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not pretending, Trixie, we’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> friends.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, does she know that? She doesn’t look at you like you’re just a friend and you two spend a lot of time together, pulling </span>
  <em>
    <span>all-nighters,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Trixie makes little quotation marks with her fingers. “I can handle it. Tell me the truth.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re picking at something that doesn’t exist,” Katya raises her voice. Thankfully, the hallway is empty. Trixie starts to feel herself getting wet as Katya falls deeper into her trap. “What is this even about? You’re the one who wanted to break up, are you having second thoughts? Feeling guilty for going around with other girls too?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If I were guilty, why would I tell you I’ve been kissed by other people, why would I tell you I’ve been touched by other people?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya’s face burns red. Trixie knows the look in her eyes way too well.  “We can discuss this inside. Come in,” she gestures with her head as she unlocks the door. Stepping in, she lets Trixie’s bag fall to the floor and barely waits until the blonde is inside before shutting the door behind her and backing Trixie up against it. “You want to hear about jealousy? Okay, you’re gonna hear about jealousy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie lets out a huff of breath, dropping her purse to the floor with a shy thud. Katya watches her intently, not a hint of a smile to be found on her face, her hands firm next to Trixie’s head. “Did you do this to her? Brought her back here and then couldn’t make it to your bed? Fucked her against the door for everyone on this floor to hear?” Trixie asks, staring Katya in the eye. The blue shines at her and she knows she’s getting exactly what she wants out of this. “Did she scream your name like I do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya grabs Trixie by the chin forcefully, and she uses the opportunity to lick the girl’s hand. “You’re one to talk, зайка. You started this, and you’re not fucking stupid, don’t act like it,” Katya says, using her other hand to hike Trixie’s dress up and play with the hem of her lacy underwear. She widens her eyes once she feels the fabric, and Trixie knows then that Katya got it. She was never the one who started this today. “I want you to tell me about Pearl.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about her?” Trixie challenges.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya buries the heel of her hand on Trixie’s clit over her panties. She resists all of her urges and doesn’t even blink at it. “What did she taste like when she kissed you, зайка? Did she put her tongue against your neck just how you like it?” Katya says before diving into Trixie’s neck herself, sucking a bruise at a questionable height. Trixie bites her lip in an effort to hold back a moan, and Katya tightens the grip around her face in response, squishing Trixie’s lips and forcing her mouth to open. “How did her fingers feel against your pussy? How many fingers did she fuck you with, hm?” Katya’s fingers tease her hole over the thin fabric. “Did she fuck you good, Trixie?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie does nothing but moan, as Katya tucks her panties to the side and plays with her wet folds. The feeling is soon gone, though, as Katya grabs her ass and smacks it. “Kat…” She starts, but the ache of another slap cuts her words in half.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I asked you a fucking question, зайка. Did she fuck you good?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Trixie mewls, feeling Katya’s hot breath against her mouth. “She never fucked me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya smirks. “Is that so?” She loosens the grip on Trixie’s face, licking over her lips. “You couldn’t do it, could you?” Trixie shakes her head. Katya drags her short nails through Trixie’s thigh deeply enough to leave scratch marks, reaching her pussy and pressing her fingers against the girl’s clit. “You know who you belong to, don’t you? Whose fucking pussy is this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good girl,” Katya kisses her. Amidst a mess of clothes being ripped off each other hungrily, they end up naked on Katya’s bed. Trixie’s on all fours, legs spread open as Katya hovers above her. She slowly fucks a finger into Trixie, and it’s been so long since the last time it burns a little, resulting in a small cry of pain. “Oh, isn’t it sweet. You couldn’t even fuck yourself without me, could you?” Trixie simply whines, feeling Katya’s finger slowly drag in and out of her, as her asscheeks take their spanking. She knows they must be red by now. Katya slips another finger in, which makes Trixie moan loudly for the first time. “There we go, look at you taking it like a whore.” Another smack thunders against her ass, and Trixie squirms, whimpering. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-I touched myself every night,” Trixie breathes out. “For you. But I didn’t put my fingers in, and I didn’t come, n-not even once.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hears Katya laughing from behind her. “Were you saving it for me? No one makes you come like I do, зайка, not even yourself. Let me look at you,” she demands, as she helps Trixie clumsily turn around, letting her back hit the mattress. Katya keeps burying her fingers into Trixie and playing with her clit, but lowers down to kiss her on the lips. “You’re mine, Trixie,” she whispers close to her ear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you,” Trixie whispers back. Katya fucks her harder, earning another loud moan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Say it again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you, Katya. I love you,” she cries softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you, зайка,” Katya says to her. “And you’re mine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m yours,” Trixie agrees. “Katya… Please, please I need to feel your mouth on me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here?” Katya teases, licking her neck. Trixie shakes her head. “Here?” She asks again, biting Trixie’s nipple. “You’re gonna have to use your words.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need your mouth on my pussy, please,” she begs. “I need you to eat me out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya obliges immediately, lowering her head and working her tongue across Trixie’s clit. She doesn’t hold any of her moans back, bucking her hips up and down to meet Katya’s mouth, but the girl holds them down strongly. “Katya,” she cries as the blonde hums into her folds. Katya fucks Trixie with her tongue aggressively, leaving no room for her to even think straight. All of the spots in which Katya has touched her are electrified and buzzing, the only other sensation running through her body is Katya’s breath against her pussy. Her clit is being mercilessly sucked on, and Trixie feels Katya slide her tongue down to tease her hole a couple of times. Katya says the most beautiful things when she isn’t speaking at all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie whimpers and cries like a bitch, the loud kind. Her mouth produces the dirtiest, most disgusting sounds known to mankind. She knows Katya is enjoying it because every time she squeals and pants, Katya digs her tongue deeper into her. At this point, the whole floor knows how well Trixie is being fucked. The thought leads to the blossom of a familiar heat that she’s longed for since Katya left her, right under her stomach. “I’m close,” she whines. “So close.” Trixie is suddenly hyper-aware of everything around her, from the touch of Katya’s bed covers all scrunched under her back to the faint smell of the cigarette they shared during lunch, which is probably lingering on their hair. Katya shoves two fingers inside her at once without warning, which makes Trixie yelp loudly at their curling and twisting and, oh, the burn.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t find the words to say it, instead screaming Katya’s name as she comes all over the girl’s mouth. Once Trixie has come down from her high, still panting and still feeling her heartbeat on her temples, Katya comes back up to her, their breasts rubbing lightly together, as Trixie’s swollen lips are met with Katya’s thumb tracing them. She quickly licks it and lets Katya slide it into her mouth, sucking lightly and running her tongue all over it. When Katya slides it back out, she drags Trixie’s bottom lip along and then surprises her with a kiss. “You came so pretty for me,” Katya praises her. “You’re such a good girl, зайка, edging yourself until I could have my way with you, keeping yourself tight. You’re my perfect girl, aren’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie nods, breathing through her mouth. The world stands still for a couple of minutes as they kiss, recharging their energy. Katya’s hands never cease teasing her body, running ghostly fingers over her waist and thighs. She even flips Trixie over and spanks a couple more times, bites her cheeks, and licks over the sore spots as they catch their breaths. Then, she leans over her and whispers, hand wrapping around Trixie’s honey blonde hair and pulling it back: “Now you’re going to be a good little slut and let me sit on your face.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She eagerly turns on the bed, feeling the messy covers under her. Katya is quick to kneel over her and kiss Trixie’s lips hungrily before shuffling her knees higher up on the bed and positioning herself above Trixie’s face. Breathing Katya’s scent in, Trixie moans at the thought of having Katya all over her mouth. She spreads the girl’s slippery lips open with her fingers, watching her. “Fuck, I missed you,” she hums right before Katya lowers herself, shutting Trixie right up. Her hands automatically travel up to Katya’s bony hips, pulling her down harder. Trixie’s tongue runs over Katya’s clit desperately, and she doesn’t stop moaning even for a second. She buries her head so vivaciously into Katya’s pussy that neither her nose nor chin spare themselves from the wetness they are met with. Katya grinds against her face, but Trixie takes it well, already familiar with having Katya on her. For a moment she stops working on the girl’s clit and fits her tongue right into her entrance, but soon she plants it back on Katya’s clit firmly, sucking hard and nibbling. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Зайка, you fuck me so good. You look so pretty under me, such a pretty little whore,” Katya breathes out, dragging all of her vowels. Then she snickers. “You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> pretty little whore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The comment lights a fire under Trixie’s ass and she brings Katya impossibly lower against her, feeling the girl’s hips jerk against her face, searching for more friction. Katya tastes so sweet on her tongue, but it’s nothing like sugar, or honey, or maple syrup, it simply tastes of her. It’s mixed with sweat and the remains of the cigarette that still lay on Trixie’s lips, but the bittersweet essence of her wetness is overly present. Her hands slide to grab Katya’s ass, squeezing her poor excuse of pink painted nails into it, dragging hard. Katya moans Trixie’s name in a crescendo, then simply pants loudly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cat got your tongue?” Trixie asks, completely out of breath, smiling and licking another strip along Katya’s pretty little cunt. In response, she hears a grunt and feels Katya’s steady, strong fingers holding the sides of her head, forcing Trixie into her pussy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut your </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> mouth, don’t stop!” Katya demands. She buries herself deeper into Trixie’s face, blocking all the air from reaching her nose and rolling her hips to meet the sync of her tongue. Trixie circles her tongue around Katya’s clit and up and down her labia as well, taking all of her in. Katya’s pussy glides nicely against her tongue, wet and sticky, and, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it’s a perfect fit. Her fingers press deeper into Trixie’s head. “Don’t… Stop…” Katya moans. “Trixie, you’re gonna make me come. Fuck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie knows what to do. Breathing can wait. She nibbles Katya’s clit between her teeth, being careful not to hurt her, then sucks on it like their lives depend on it. Katya groans her way up to her orgasm, and when she comes, Trixie licks all of her clean. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They spend the rest of the night wrapped in each other’s arms, sharing breathy kisses. At first, the only sound to be heard is their panting until they catch their breaths again. Katya teases Trixie for a while by grabbing her sore ass right where the bruises are starting to form. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, was that the plan all along?” Katya asks. She’s lying on her back and Trixie’s nearly on top of her, their naked breasts pressed together. “Breaking up with me only so you could give me a taste of jealousy play? I didn’t even know you were into that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I never had a reason to be jealous before,” Trixie breathes back at her. “But, no, not really. I fully intended on making that date with Pearl work because I thought you were ready to move on from me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And how did that go?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie buries her face on Katya’s collarbones. “She tried to kiss me and I told her I was straight. Then I locked myself in that bedroom and you started texting me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya laughs deliciously loudly. “See, that’s what you get for trying to break up with me. I thought you were way smarter!” Trixie grunts and Katya feels the vibrations on her chest before the girl looks up at her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I should have known better,” Trixie admits. Her puppy brown eyes seem sad under the poor lighting of the dorm. “I love you, Katya.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles, tracing Trixie’s crooked nose, swollen lips, and small chin with her finger. “I love you so much,” she whispers back. “I won’t ever let you go again, Trixie. I mean it when I say you’re mine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie searches for her lips. “I think you should ask me to be your girlfriend again right now.” Katya smiles into another kiss, holding Trixie’s head close to her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Beatrice Mattel, can you please be my girlfriend again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie furrows her brow, thoughtful. “I’ll think about it.” Katya rolls her eyes, but isn’t able to hold back the smile that coats her lips. She watches Trixie, avoiding blinking as much as possible so as not to miss anything. The tightness in her chest has undone itself. It’s the softness and warmth of their skin on each other that helps Katya realize they were never apart, never at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>2025</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie is exhausted. This morning, when she looked at herself in the mirror after waking up, she decided to name the bags under her eyes Louis and Vuitton. It made her snicker and she waited until Katya woke up to tell her about it, hoping it would bring a chuckle out of her lips as well. It did. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Saturday mornings are always lazy in their apartment. They wake up at nine-thirty, eat leftover Chinese food or pizza for breakfast on the couch while watching whatever TV show they decide is worth their time, and stay there until lunchtime. Today they chose not to go out for lunch, since Trixie’s busy with papers she needs to grade, and Katya’s working on a case that’s driving her insane, but they agree to go tomorrow. The afternoons are reserved for cleaning and laundry before they finally settle down to do their work tasks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They live a nice, easy life in downtown Milwaukee. At this point, they could probably afford a better place to live, but both of them have become enamoured by their neighbors and they can walk everywhere. Even though Katya has started making big bucks at the law firm where she works as a virtual crimes specialist, they still don’t have a car, but Trixie doesn’t see a problem in it, considering there’s a bus stop right around the corner from their building. It’s good enough for her, she’s quite easy to please.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie already has all of her work clothes hanging back where they belong, freshly dried and smelling of clothes softener, just how she likes it. She pats down a long, flowery skirt and giggles at how it must clash with her septum ring, but she knows all of her students love it. Who knew one day she’d become a cool high school teacher? Every day she thanks Katya for supporting her choice of going to community college to study Physics. First, it was just for the hell of it, but she got a pretty decent position at a local public high school in no time after she graduated. When she teaches her students about astronomy, she always mentions Eta Carinae and shows them the little tattoo of a star she got on her ankle, matching with Katya’s. Turns out there’s a lot of kids who are just like her back when she was a teen, and being there for them is way more fulfilling than being able to name all of the stars in the universe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sighs while looking through their closet. Katya has the terrible habit of throwing her clothes back in there instead of putting them in the laundry basket by the bathroom door and Trixie rolls her eyes at it every time. She can hear heavy music coming from the kitchen, which Katya has decided to take on, and knows yelling won’t work - her girlfriend won’t hear her. Her knees hit the ground as she starts picking up blazers, pantsuits, and the pencil skirts that both of them hate to death. It almost goes unnoticed, but she picks up a pair of tailored pants and hears a small </span>
  <em>
    <span>clink</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like something’s just fallen on the floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Has Katya been storing pennies in her pockets again?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Trixie asks herself, piling the clothes she’s already picked up on the side and searching the floor with her hands, until the tips of her fingers come across cold metal. It takes her a second look to fully grasp it is not a coin, but a ring. Her heart palpitates and the palms of her hands sweat. She picks the ring up, bringing it closer to her face so she can see it better. It is a thin band of rose gold with small diamonds positioned around a big rose quartz in the center. It must have cost an entire month’s salary, if not more. The expression on Trixie’s face doesn’t even have time to change before she rushes to the kitchen, turning off the music abruptly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, what…” Katya starts, turning to her from the sink with a sponge in her hand. Trixie holds the ring up to her, panting. She puts the sponge down. “Oh. You found that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Katya,” Trixie takes a few steps closer. “Is this what I think it is?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was gonna wait until your birthday,” Katya says, leaning her back against the counter. “So… Happy birthday?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie doesn’t laugh, still holding the ring up, and barely blinking. When she is close enough, Katya wraps her arms around Trixie’s waist. “I think you should propose to me right now,” Trixie mutters. Katya looks at her lips before kissing her, and gently takes the ring from between her fingers when she pulls away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Trixie,</span>
  <span> зайка</span>
  <span>, it’s been ten years since I first got to know you, and in all this time I was only able to surprise you once,” Katya smiles. Trixie’s blood is pumping through her veins in a rush. “And after that, you’ve managed to always stay one step ahead of me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yekaterina…” Trixie says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you remember that night, way back when we met, when I called you for the first time? We were still Dolly and Jodie.” Trixie nods. Katya looks at the ring and then back up at her. “You told me you were afraid of the stars because they could kill you at any second. I was so young back then, and still so shaken from Brooke’s death. The world was such an awful place and dying because of a star was such a silly thought. I probably wouldn’t have minded it at all, since that was far from being the worst thing that could happen to me.” Katya reaches to touch Trixie’s face, and she leans into her hand, letting her cheek be stroked. “Then I started loving you. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That </span>
  </em>
  <span>was the worst thing that could ever happen to me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Both women giggle and Trixie gives Katya a slight push on the shoulder. “Shut up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You changed my little life, зайка. Having you be a part of it is the biggest privilege I’ve ever had.” Katya brushes her lips against Trixie’s. “But lately, I’ve been thinking about the stars. It might be that project you’ve been working on with your eleventh-graders, I don’t know, but that phone call keeps coming back to me, ten years later. So much has changed, life is nowhere near awful anymore, not at all. You loved me until I could love the world back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you,” Trixie whispers. Katya kisses her again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you,” she responds. Trixie tries to fight back the tears, but she knows her effort won’t last long. “What has been bugging me lately is… What if it happens, you know? What if Eta Carinae does run out of fuel, and explode, and extinguishes all forms of life on Earth? Like you said, for all we know, it could have already exploded and we’re just waiting for the light to reach us. All these years you have done everything for me, Trixie, you gave me more than I could ever have asked for. What if the planet dies before I’m able to give it back to you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first tears wet her face with warmth and roll down slowly, but Katya rubs her thumbs over them. “Katya…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya smiles. “It’s about that, you see? When you don’t know what to say, you say my name. The very fucking least I could do is to make you my wife, so when the light finally hits us and burns all of the living things on this planet, it’ll know we have always belonged together. By the time the world ends, I need to make sure you know what you are to me. You’re my forever. You’re the second half of this star system, and we shine brighter than… How many Suns again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Five million.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We shine brighter than five million Suns. So, what do you say, зайка?” Katya positions the ring before Trixie’s finger, but her hand is trembling so hard she doubts Katya will be able to slide it on her on the first try. “Will you illuminate the sky forever with me? Will you be my wife?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trixie nods. “Yes,” she smiles between her tears. “Yes, I will.” Katya grabs her hand to put the ring on. It looks perfect, like it was made just for her. Trixie lets herself fall into Katya’s warm embrace as the woman wraps her arms around her neck and pulls her into a hug, heart to heart. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She recalls the conversation they had that night, lying in the cold under the stars. Trixie said that if a star loses half of itself it has the right to destroy a few galaxies, back when Katya’s loss was still so recent. It must have really felt that way, Trixie imagines, but she has been awarded the pleasure of watching Katya grow into a full, complete woman, who, she reckons, has lost nothing at all. Brooke’s death was tragic in every single aspect, and Katya’s response to it was never an overreaction - still, the choices she made around it gifted her with everything she had thought to be gone. From making justice with her own hands (a.k.a giving Chad the black eye of a lifetime), to leading the police to all the evidence they needed, not only to defend Brooke, but all of the other girls as well, to pushing herself through Law School with a smile on her face and graduating with honors, to becoming a specialist in virtual crimes and doing for others what she couldn’t do for her sister. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Whatever half of herself she thought she had lost has been brightly burning beside her all along, and so has Trixie. That night, when Katya said she felt there was a supernova burning inside of her, Trixie got it. Now, she knows this supernova has a new meaning to it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Trixie pulls away, trying to find Katya’s eyes. “Don’t let me forget to invite Mrs. Monsoon to the wedding.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Katya giggles and kisses her for the millionth time, and Trixie is sure they are glowing. She can taste all of the stars she’s learned to name inside of Katya’s mouth and their lips still fit perfectly on each other’s. They keep burning for the rest of the night (and, maybe, for the rest of their lives).</span>
</p>
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